Requiem for a Love Affair
by Rambling Scribe
Summary: Set post 5.5 so spoilers up to this ep. Ruth is trying to build a new life for herself but developments in London have a major impact on her plans. Final chapter now posted.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** **- Obviously I don't own any of the characters - they belong to Kudos and the BBC.**

**This is set post 5.5.**

**Please note - there will be a rating increase in later chapters.**

**Thanks to Em and Kate :)

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**Requiem for a Love Affair**

**Chapter 1**

Adam opened the door to the roof and took a sharp breath as the cold hit him. He hesitated for a moment and then walked across to where Harry was standing.

"Juliet's trying to get hold of you." He held out the older man's mobile phone as he spoke.

"Well she can go on trying. I'm not in the mood for a shouting match."

Adam tried again. "I think you should talk to her. It's the third time she's phoned in the last fifteen minutes."

Harry sighed heavily and took the phone from him. "Juliet, I understand you have a burning desire to speak to me." He winced and moved the phone a few centimetres from his ear.

Instinctively, Adam backed away slightly. He could hear Juliet from where he was standing. It sounded like she was talking _at_ Harry rather than _to_ him.

"I'm busy…" Harry closed his eyes as he tried to interrupt Juliet's tirade. Eventually, he got a chance to speak, "OK. When?" A short pause. "Fine." He dropped the phone into his jacket pocket and returned his gaze to the London skyline.

"She wants to see me urgently, but not in her office."

"Any idea why?"

Harry shook his head. "No. She wouldn't say. I'm meeting her at three o'clock."

The cold was starting to seep into Adam and he huddled further into his jacket. "It's freezing; I think we should go back inside."

It was a minute or two before Harry spoke. "It's been nearly two years," he turned his head and looked at the blonde before continuing, "since Ruth… left." He wouldn't say 'died' because that wasn't the truth. He shifted his position so his back was now against the concrete parapet. "Can you believe it?"

Adam was dumbstruck. It was the first time Harry had mentioned Ruth's name in well over a year. She had only been referred to a handful of times since her 'death' and each occasion had been fraught. The unspoken consensus had been to not talk about her, at least not in the presence of their section head.

With a shrug of his shoulders he replied, "No, I can't believe it's nearly two years either."

Harry's gaze had shifted to the dirty concrete slabs they were standing on. He idly kicked at a couple of cigarette ends, left by staff who defied the 'No smoking anywhere in Thames House' edict.

"She's the love of my life." His use of the present tense was not lost on his colleague.

After a long silence Adam spoke, "We did try to stop her Harry. Me and Zaf. We tried to talk her out of going but she… she was determined. To save you." It was the first time he had broached the subject. The first time he had given an indication of the guilt both he and Zaf felt over Ruth's departure.

"I don't doubt it. I never have." Harry smiled slightly. "She's so bloody stubborn."

"And what with you being so pig-headed, the pair of you are…"

"Well-suited, yes," Harry chuckled, "you cheeky bastard."

**xxxxxxxxxxx**

As he watched the minibus pull up and the driver climb out, Harry wondered what Juliet thought of her new mode of transport. He knew she would never tolerate the amount of man-handling that would be required to get her in and out of one of the standard pool cars, not that they were really suitable for someone in a wheelchair. Instead, she was chauffeured around in an adapted vehicle with a hydraulic lift – not quite the sleek limousine she had become used to.

He thought back to the first time he had met her. The attraction had been instantaneous and mutual. Not that either of them had acted on it, at least not straightaway. They had chosen to indulge in a game of cat-and-mouse with both of them the pursuer and the prey. Eventually, after an evening of good food and even better wine, they had surrendered to their lust. Harry took a sudden breath at the clarity of the memory of their hot, urgent coupling in the dingy alleyway, next to the restaurant they had been in only minutes earlier. Her legs had been wrapped tightly round his waist as he had frantically thrust into her and he'd been totally unaware of the torrential rain drenching them both until they had staggered apart.

Juliet was also reminiscing; she could still picture Harry standing in his office the first time she had met him. She had breezed in and introduced herself and he'd blatantly eyed her up as he shook her hand. The atmosphere between them had crackled with sexual tension. He'd been slimmer then; his hair longer, the natural curls revealed. But it had been his eyes, the colour of liquid amber, and the slow, lazy smile that had totally beguiled her. They were both married but Juliet had dismissed that detail as a minor inconvenience. She was an ambitious woman and bedding Harry became one of her objectives.

The slight thud of the hydraulic platform as it settled on the road brought Juliet back to the present. She was dreading the conversation they were about to have and she hated the fact that her stomach still filled with butterflies when she saw him. He had got to her far more than she would ever admit but she would never tell him she had been in love with him; that perhaps she was _still_ in love with him.

Harry watched her trundle towards him, wondering why she had picked this meeting place rather than her office. "What's so urgent Juliet?"

"Good afternoon Harry; it's nice to see you too."

"Wouldn't your office have been more comfortable?" His tone had softened slightly.

"I fancied some fresh air and a familiar view."

"I assume, then, I'm not going to like what you have to say."

"Oh Harry! Such a suspicious nature." Her sarcasm covered the uneasiness she felt.

He watched her carefully, trying to read her facial expression and interpret her body language, which was not so easy now she was unable to walk. "It may have escaped your attention, but my profession makes me a naturally suspicious person."

She tilted her head slightly to one side and frowned at him before speaking. "Let's walk and talk." In response to his raised eyebrow, she continued, "alright, you walk, I'll wheel."

Harry couldn't help smiling at her. Despite everything, she had retained her sense of humour and he admired her for that. "Come on then, what do you want to talk about?"

"I've been offered another job. In New York."

He stopped abruptly. "New York? Doing what exactly?"

"It's at the UK Mission to the UN. The anti-terrorist committee has been expanded and they're looking for another 'technical expert' as they call them." Juliet looked faintly embarrassed, which, Harry noted, was a rare occurrence.

"Are you going to take it?"

"Yes. In fact, I've already accepted it. I go in four weeks."

For once, Harry was speechless. He stood and stared at Juliet whilst he attempted to process what she had said. Eventually he managed to find his voice, "Four weeks? Christ, you don't waste any time do you?"

"Well, they're keen to get me in post…"

"What about a replacement for you here?" Harry interrupted her.

This was the part of their conversation she'd been dreading the most. "There are a couple of names been bandied round but the favourite is…" she took a deep breath before continuing, "Oliver Mace."

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	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer - I still don't own anything...unfortunately...**

**Thanks to Em and Kate - couldn't do it without you :D**

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**Requiem for a Love Affair**

**Chapter 2**

Harry watched Juliet being driven away and then wandered aimlessly along the Embankment to Westminster Bridge. He stood for a long time gazing at the river and contemplating the bombshell she had dropped on him. It seemed that Mace's penance had been served and he was now ready to return to a prime position in the Security Services. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that Mace would get the post, despite Juliet's protestations that it wasn't a certainty. There were still enough people around who supported him and regarded his treatment over the Cotterdam affair as unreasonable.

Dusk had fallen and, with a long sigh, Harry stirred himself from his position looking at the reflected lights dance in the river. He trudged wearily back towards Thames House, wondering what the next few weeks would hold for him and his team. As he was crossing Lambeth Bridge, his phone rang.

"Harry? Are you alright?" Adam couldn't disguise the concern in his voice.

"I'm fine. I'm on my way back; I'll be about five minutes." Harry ended the call. He still needed time to think about what he was going to tell the others.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Juliet's going to the UN? God, isn't that like putting Herod in charge of childcare provision?" Adam's attempt at levity fell flat.

"That's the least of our worries Adam." Harry toyed with his glass of whisky. He had felt in need of a drink on his return to the Grid.

"So what haven't you told me?"

"Mace is in the running to take over from Juliet."

Adam stared at him, wondering if he had heard correctly. "She told you that? It can't be right."

"She said there were two names in the frame and Mace is the favourite." Harry drained his glass.

"Well if that's the case, we're screwed. Totally screwed." Adam sat down heavily and rubbed his hands over his face. "Do you know who the other candidate is?

"No idea. Juliet chose not to share that piece of information." Harry thought for a moment. "To be fair, she may not even know."

Adam snorted. "She'll bloody know."

"Maybe."

"She's taking the piss; trying to wind you up. Mace can't possibly be in the running."

Harry studied the empty tumbler before replying. "I'm not so sure Adam."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Three days after his meeting with Juliet, the official announcement regarding her successor was made. Harry sat disconsolately in his office watching the television news.

"_In a surprise announcement today, the Home Office confirmed that Oliver Mace will be the new National Security Co-ordinator, replacing Juliet Shaw who is joining the United Nations Anti-Terrorist Committee as a Technical Expert. Mr Mace is a former Chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee. He was forced to resign in 2006 after the fire at Cotterdam Prison was revealed to have been a Security Services ploy to enable seven terror suspects to be removed from the UK to undergo special interrogation, widely believed to be torture. Mr Mace will take up his new appointment in just over three weeks._"

He switched the news off, sick of seeing Oliver's smug features grinning at him from the screen. Harry had known what was going to be in the bulletin; he had been summoned to see the DG first thing that morning. He had been told unequivocally that he either worked with Mace or he resigned. The second option had appealed to him more than he cared to admit but he wouldn't do it; because then Oliver would have won and Ruth's sacrifice would have all been in vain.

He looked at the file in front of him but it was no good; he couldn't concentrate on any of it. Instead, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a slightly crumpled postcard. It was a simple reproduction of a line drawing of King Offa. Inscribed on the back, in neat script, was a short verse:

_You are the rarest soul I ever knew,  
Lover of beauty, knightliest and best;  
My thoughts seek you as waves that seek the shore,  
And when I think of you, I am at rest._

There was no sender's name, just a single 'X' to represent a kiss, but Harry knew who the card was from; the familiar handwriting and the picture were enough for him to be sure Ruth had sent it. It had arrived exactly one year to the day after she had left; her faith in the Royal Mail obviously much stronger than his. He had stood in his kitchen and flicked through the pile of post he had picked up on his way in and the card had almost shouted out its existence. It had never left his presence since; it was either in his pocket or propped on his nightstand next to a photo of her he had acquired when he collected her cats.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Adam walking across the Grid towards his office. He replaced the card in his jacket and looked up as the younger man walked in.

"Harry, I think there might be a way of stopping Mace taking over from Juliet."

"Really?"

Adam nodded. "Yes. What about proving he murdered Ruth? We could say he blackmailed her into helping with the removal of the seven suspects from Cotterdam. Then he found out she was going to tell you the truth so he framed her for Maudsley's murder. After you attacked Mace in his club, he got his revenge by killing Ruth."

"I don't know Adam." Harry looked as doubtful as he sounded and started to pace around his office. "What about Ruth? If we were successful in framing Mace for her 'murder', she'd never be able to… to come back to her old life." He stopped and sat on the edge of his desk. The silence filled the room as both men considered the arguments for and against Adam's suggestion.

"What if she doesn't want her old life back?" The younger man had voiced one of Harry's most unwelcome thoughts.

"She might…"

"Have you heard from her?" There was a hint of accusation to the question.

"No I haven't," Harry lied. Some instinct made him hold back from telling his colleague about the postcard. "But I don't think we have any right to use her again."

"I don't think she'd mind. In fact I think she'd be quite happy for us to use her 'death' to nail Mace once and for all." Getting no response, Adam continued, "at least think about it."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Ruth felt her breath catch as she scrolled through the news report on the BBC website. She read and re-read it, certain it must be a mistake; but it wasn't - Mace was back. She closed the website page and shut the lid down on her laptop. She stood up shakily, walked across to the open French windows and gazed out across the terraced garden. She felt safe here; _had_ felt safe here. Now the familiar feeling of nauseating fear that plagued the first few months of her new life clawed at her stomach once again.

Her mind worked feverishly as she considered the various scenarios which might have led to Oliver's return. Harry didn't feature in any of them; Ruth was sure there was no way he would tolerate being in the same room as Mace, let alone work with him again. If that was the case then there was only one conclusion: Harry had left the service. The thought weighed heavily on her mind. She needed to find out what had happened and where he was.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer - I still don't own anything...**

**Thanks Em :D**

**Sorry this took me longer than expected to post - real life got in the way...

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Requiem for a Love Affair

**Chapter 3**

The days slipped past and the reality of Oliver Mace's forthcoming appointment tainted the atmosphere on the Grid. Adam and Zaf spent every spare moment discreetly trying to find anything they could use against him. Another attempt to persuade Harry to take up Adam's suggestion ended in a sharp exchange of words.

"No!"

"But Harry…"

"I said no and I mean no! Do you understand?"

A tense silence followed as Adam appeared to consider pushing the subject further. Eventually he spoke. "Yes, I understand."

The disagreement left Harry feeling unsettled. He was determined not to use Ruth but he needed a way of removing Mace from the scene, preferably permanently. Adam's idea was good and he didn't doubt the assertion that Ruth would be willing to have her death used as a means to solve their problem. The stumbling block was Harry himself; he didn't want to do anything that would extinguish the faint hope he clung onto that he could clear her name and give her the chance to come back to her old life; to come back to him.

Zaf watched Adam leave Harry's office and walk back across the Grid. He knew from the discussion he had observed that their plan had been rejected. He blew out a frustrated breath and wondered, not for the first time, why Mace seemed to be squeaky clean; the only blot on his career the Cotterdam business and they had needed to fabricate evidence to prove his part in that.

"No good then?"

"He just won't do it mate." Adam stood in front of his desk, anger clearly etched on his face. "We just have to keep digging. There has to be something we can use against that scumbag."

Zaf leant back in his seat, tapping a pen against his teeth as he considered his response. "We could just go with your idea and not tell Harry. See what we can put together and keep it as a back-up plan…"

Adam shot a quick glance over his shoulder. "We need to be extremely careful. You know Harry has this knack for finding out everything that is going on."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Ruth checked her bag for the fourth time that morning. She knew she had everything she needed but the ritual of mentally ticking off each item as she pulled them out of the small backpack gave her reassurance. She looked up and down the platform, noting who was waiting and whether they seemed to be paying her any attention; an old habit that had become more important recently.

The Milan train pulled in on time and Ruth found a window seat, close to the door and with a good view of the rest of the carriage. _More tradecraft_ she thought ruefully. The journey took just over an hour and she used the time to go over her plan. She had identified three internet cafes she could use, allowing herself an hour in each. She didn't dare risk any more time than that in case any of her online activities were traced, not that she intended for that to happen.

The train arrived at Milano Centrale station on schedule, Mussolini's influence on the railways still in evidence. Ruth walked briskly until she located the small side street where her first stopping point was. Having secured one of the computers near the back of the café, she worked quickly, loading the keystroke blocking software she had obtained the previous week on her trip to Lugano. She didn't dare risk using her own laptop and internet connection to either obtain the programs she needed or carry out the hacking she was about to do. She tried not to think about what would happen to her if she got caught.

Ruth knew exactly where she was going to start and a search of the Land Registry database showed Harry's house had not changed ownership. The next check was on the local authority database; he was still listed, under a legend, on the electoral roll. She felt partially reassured by these discoveries; at least he was still at the same address. Ruth checked her watch – fifteen minutes of her hour's access left. She removed her software from the computer and then spent a few minutes looking at an online guide to Milan.

The next location was a short ride away on the metro. Ruth worked quickly, searching the Revenue and Customs database that contained the tax records of all Security and Intelligence Service staff. Confirmation that even spooks weren't exempt from the second of life's two certainties. It didn't take long to locate Harry's details and Ruth sent up a silent prayer of thanks for the day Malcolm had decided he needed to share the burden of knowledge of some of the Grid's more sensitive secrets. Her brow furrowed as she studied the screen. He was still there, his status shown as 'active'. She wasn't entirely sure if that was a good thing. Her thoughts were interrupted by a giggling young German couple who were trying to share the seat at the computer next to her and she decided it was time to move on.

Ruth's final stop was on the other side of the city. Her palms were sweating and she felt slightly sick as she entered the café. This was going to be the riskiest part of her day. Her heart pounded as she hit the enter key and waited for the password cracking software to work. After what seemed like an eternity she was in, the familiar welcome screen of MI5's system in front of her. She knew she could only risk a few minutes on the Thames House databases so she would have to limit her searches. HR records for Harry confirmed he was still head of Section D; she checked the 'pending actions' section: nothing. If Harry intended to resign when Mace was appointed, he clearly hadn't done anything about it yet.

Her final check was on his marital status – he was still shown as divorced and living alone. She felt a dizzying sense of relief then she felt guilty; she wanted him to be happy but she didn't want him to find happiness with someone else. Deciding she had risked enough time, she closed her connection to Thames House and randomly surfed websites before stepping out in the lunchtime crowds.

Ruth walked through the busy streets deep in thought. She had been expecting to find that Harry had left the service and moved away; instead he seemed he'd decided to play the long game where Mace was concerned. The conclusion left her feeling uneasy. What if Harry's plans backfired? She'd been set-up to take the blame for Maudsley's death relatively easily. Only a very small number of people knew she was still alive; if anyone else found out the truth it would put her and Harry at risk. She would need to be extra vigilant from now on.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Harry stuck his head round the door of the forgery suite. "Ah, there you are, I need to talk to you about something. Meet me in The Colonies at eight o'clock this evening."

Malcolm cleared his throat before replying nervously, "Er, right. What did you want to discuss?"

"Not here." In response to the worried look on his colleague's face, Harry continued, "I'm not asking you out on a bloody date Malcolm! Just meet me, OK?"

"Yes, yes, of course." Malcolm groaned inwardly. Harry must know that Zaf had asked him to do some research into the removal of the seven terrorist suspects from Cotterdam prison.

----

Harry had picked The Colonies as it was slightly off the beaten track and just that little bit too far to be a regular watering hole for the occupants of either Thames House or Vauxhall Cross. It was also on the small side but he regarded that as an advantage today. He pushed the door open and blinked slightly against the smoky atmosphere. He located Malcolm, sitting at a table tucked into the corner and nursing the remnants of a drink.

"Sorry I'm late. Do you want another drink?"

"Um, gin and tonic please Harry."

Malcolm fiddled nervously with a beer mat wondering whether he should admit straightaway what he'd been doing. Just as he made a decision to tell the truth, Harry spoke:

"The reason I want to speak to you is to establish how difficult it would be do something and what the risks are."

"Um, alright."

"How easy would it be to 'borrow' the Number 10 Press Office website?"

"Borrow it?" Malcolm repeated slowly.

"Yes. Say we wanted to place certain information in the public domain and attribute it to Number 10." Harry took a small sip of his drink and watched his colleague keenly.

"It would be relatively straightforward. We've done similar things before; spoofed websites and put out fake stories."

"Ah, but this wouldn't be a fake story. It would be true – it just can't be seen to have come from us. And it has to be on the real Number 10 website."

Malcolm considered Harry's words carefully. "I'd need to do as much preparation beforehand as possible. I'd need the story in advance so that I could make up the webpages. I'd also need to do a couple of 'dry runs' to ensure they haven't tightened their security."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the last remark. "Shouldn't we be encouraging them to up their security?"

"Well, we don't want to make it too difficult for ourselves do we." Malcolm gave a small smile.

"I suppose not. So, theoretically, it's a relatively straightforward thing to do?" Harry spoke quietly, ever watchful of people near them.

"Yes." Malcolm hesitated. "What's the story you have in mind?"

"Ah, all in good time."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Juliet's final day as National Security Co-ordinator was to be concluded with a leaving party of the kind only those in prominent political or civil service positions could expect. It was being held at the Cabinet Office and a number of the great and the good had been invited. Security for the event was being overseen by the Metropolitan Police Specialist Protection Unit with assistance from MI5. This arrangement had been the cause of some consternation.

"So we're supposed to let plod organise it all?" Adam responded scornfully when the security arrangements were revealed.

"Yes. We just have to ensure they don't cock it up." Harry didn't bother to hide the irritation he felt.

----

Looking round the room Harry had to admit that Juliet had garnered quite an impressive turnout.

"The Home Secretary, Secretary of State for Defence, Cabinet Secretary, DGs from 5 and 6 and the Commissioner of Police all gathered together in one place; my God, it's like an Al Qaeda wet dream." He turned to face Adam before continuing, "let's hope nothing goes wrong."

"Good job we're here keeping an eye on things then." Something in the periphery of the younger man's vision attracted his attention. "Oh shit."

Harry followed his gaze. Oliver Mace had arrived and was starting to circulate; shaking hands warmly and being feted like the Prodigal son. Eventually, his eyes settled on the two men watching him and he strode over to them.

"Harry; long time no see," he sneered his greeting.

"Oliver."

"I see you've brought your minder with you." He looked at Adam as if he was something unpleasant he'd trod in.

"We're looking after security as you know full well Oliver." Adam returned Mace's look with an equally disdainful one of his own.

"Of course. Let's hope there aren't any _incidents_ then." The emphasis was not lost on either man.

Before the conversation could continue, Juliet rolled up. "Getting reacquainted? How lovely." Not giving any of them a chance to reply, she ploughed on, "Oliver, there are a couple of people you really must speak to."

Mace looked at her and decided not to argue. He followed her across the room acutely aware of the two pairs of eyes gazing intently at his retreating back.

----

Once the speeches were over and some of the more heavyweight guests had gone, Harry decided it was time to leave. His eyes roamed the room until he located Juliet who was being bored senseless by some junior Minister. She gave him an imploring look and he took pity on her, rescuing her with an excuse of needing to talk to her urgently.

"Thank you." Juliet sounded genuinely grateful.

"I'm calling it a night."

"Really? Do you have to?"

"I don't think I can take any more bonhomie." Harry was watching Mace ingratiate himself with someone from Counter Terrorism Command.

Juliet studied him for a minute, contemplating her farewell. "Look after yourself Harry."

He leant down and kissed her cheek. "And you. Don't rattle too many cages."

She gave a short laugh and placed her hand on his arm. "And don't do anything stupid." He raised an eyebrow in response. "I mean it Harry."

He nodded and smiled at her, "I know; I'll behave."

As he straightened up, she squeezed his hand. "Bye."

"Bye Juliet."

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	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I still don't own anything...**

**Thanks Em! **

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**Requiem for a Love Affair**

**Chapter 4**

The incessant ringing of his mobile eventually cut through the fog of sleep that enveloped Harry. He felt for the phone and mumbled 'yes' into it. As he listened to the caller's voice, his head started to clear.

"When?" He was sitting up now. "How many of them?" He peered at the clock on his nightstand – 3.12 a.m. "Red flash my entire team, I'm on my way."

---

Half an hour later, Harry and his team were assembled in the meeting room armed with coffee and in various states of alertness.

"Right, one of the Cotterdam seven, Azhar al Khamir, escaped from Belmarsh Prison just after 2.30 this morning. He'd been taken to the South Eastern General Hospital after apparently suffering some kind of brain seizure."

"I thought Belmarsh had a state of the art hospital wing?" Adam interjected.

"Well, apparently not state of the art enough; the night duty doctor insisted al Khamir went to the South Eastern." Harry continued, "once in A&E he attacked his guards, killing one and seriously injuring the other. He then held a nurse at knifepoint and stole her car."

"And just drove off into the night?" It was Zaf's turn to interrupt.

"So it seems…" Before Harry could say anymore, a visitor was brought in to join them. He introduced himself as Detective Superintendent Ben Anderson from Counter Terrorism Command.

"Any more news for us Superintendent?" It was the only welcome the policeman was going to get.

"Just that al Khamir has abandoned the car he took." Anderson shifted uneasily as he looked at the expectant faces round the table.

"So is he in another vehicle, on foot or flying over the rooftops à la Mary Poppins, Superintendent?" Adam's tone was contemptuous.

"We think he's in another vehicle…"

"You _think_?"

"Local police had some problems following him; there'd been an RTC involving a delivery van and a night bus. They got caught up in that." From the look on Anderson's face, it was clear even he couldn't quite believe the information he was relaying.

"How the Hell did he get a chance to attack his guards in the first place?" Zaf voiced a question several of them had been contemplating.

"Seems the hospital staff refused to treat him whilst he was restrained. Remember, he'd been admitted having suffered a seizure."

"From which he seems to have miraculously recovered. The man's a convicted terrorist for Christ's sake!" Adam cut across the policeman's explanation.

"This isn't helping." Harry's authoritative tone brokered no argument. "Right, we need to find al Khamir and soon. Start to pull together the usual stuff; CCTV from the prison and hospital; details of any visitors he's had and personnel records for prison and hospital staff. I'm assuming he didn't arrange his escape by himself, so if we find who helped him, we find him."

---

Harry was on the phone when Adam appeared in the doorway of his office. He stood impatiently, waiting for the conversation to finish.

"Looks like al Khamir's been traced to a house in Deptford."

"Deptford? He didn't get far then."

"Seems not; I'm going down there now." Adam turned to leave.

"Hang on, I'm coming with you." Harry was already on his feet.

Police and Special Forces were already on the scene when they arrived, their vehicles lined up between the inner and outer cordons. The street was narrow, and portable floodlights bathed a tatty terraced house in bright, white light.

They located Anderson and headed towards him.

"So not going for a covert entry then?" The antagonism between Adam and the Superintendent was back.

"We can't. Its al Khamir's cousin's place; there are children inside."

Adam's tone softened slightly. "Has any contact been made with him yet?"

"The police negotiator has been talking to the cousin. He hasn't been able to persuade al Khamir to come to the phone."

"You're sure he's in there?" Harry looked doubtful as he asked the question.

"Yes, we've seen him at the window a couple of times."

Adam's earpiece crackled into life. "Alpha Foxtrot One, can you hear me?"

"Yes Malcolm."

"Alpha Foxtrot One, please use call-signs."

"Yes Alpha Foxtrot…" A loud electronic screech in his ear stopped Adam mid-sentence. "Shit!" He yanked out the piece of plastic as Harry tentatively tried his comms link. He too, was met with an ear-splitting, whistling noise.

"Christ, this is all we need," he muttered at Adam.

Movement in front of them distracted them from their discomfort; the front door of the target house was opening slowly. A small boy, no more than five or six years old, emerged, blinking against the bright lights. Shouts of 'stand still son' reverberated down the street. The child wavered and then stopped as an armed policeman started to walk slowly towards him.

"I'm coming out! I 'm coming out!" a male voice called out from just inside the house.

"Distraction technique – great!" Adam hissed at Harry.

Al Khamir emerged from the doorway, shaking and with his hands held in the air. "Don't shoot! I am unarmed. Please don't shoot!" His English was heavily accented and his voice choked with fear.

The policeman near the child had dropped to his knee and trained his gun on the terrorist. He shouted 'stand still' several times before al Khamir stopped, a couple of feet from the boy; both Harry and Adam were feeling increasingly uneasy with the situation.

"Hold your fire; he's too close to the boy." Harry spoke clearly but his instructions were greeted with static that filled his earpiece. He tapped Adam on the shoulder and indicated for him to move closer to the house. "Hold your fire. Repeat: hold your fire." There was more static, followed by faint voices and then several loud bangs. One of the floodlights shattered, spraying broken glass over Adam and the armed officers he was standing behind.

There was silence, then a child crying and a woman screaming. Suddenly, there was a rush of movement as police officers raced towards the house. Harry was now beside Adam and, as Anderson elbowed past them, someone shouted for a paramedic. A rush of voices in their earpieces gave them the first clue as to what had happened: al Khamir had been shot.

---

By the time the initial debriefing at the scene had been completed, it was nearly 3.00 a.m. Zaf had arrived just as they were finishing and insisted on driving them home. Their attempts to get him to take them back to Thames House were resolutely ignored and, ultimately, Harry had welcomed the sight of his front door. He headed straight for his bed, forgoing his customary nightcap.

Adam too had been glad of his younger colleague's insistence and had climbed wearily out of the car and let himself into his apartment. He peered round the door of Wes's bedroom and watched his son sleep for a few minutes before collapsing, fully clothed, onto his own bed.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Harry was back in Thames House by 7.30 a.m. He felt dreadful and his head was pounding; working solidly for twenty-four hours and then returning to the office after just a couple of hours sleep was taking its toll. He revised the thought; the stresses of the job were taking their toll but, above all, it was the gut-wrenching loneliness that was wearing him down. He missed Ruth; now more than ever. He briefly entertained one of his fantasies - writing out his resignation and emailing it the DG. He gave himself a mental shake – it was no good thinking like that, not today. Scanning the Grid, he saw Adam coming through the pods, closely followed by Jo and Zaf. None of them could have had much sleep either.

"Have any of you got some aspirin or paracetamol?" The question was clearly not one his officers expected to hear.

Jo broke the silence. "Um, I have some ibuprofen if that's any good?"

"That'll be fine, thanks." _Strychnine might be even better_ he thought darkly.

The young blonde rummaged in her desk drawer and produced a slightly crumpled packet. "You shouldn't take them on an empty stomach…" she trailed off as she saw the look on Harry's face.

With a muttered 'thanks Jo' he took the packet, got a cup of water from the cooler and went back to his office. He didn't bother to read the instructions but downed four of the tablets not caring if it was too many. Leaning back in his seat, he closed his eyes and idly wondered how many tablets would constitute an ibuprofen overdose, and how long they would take to kick in; he was brought back to reality by the sound of footsteps outside his door.

"You OK?" Adam looked as tired as Harry felt.

"Fine, it's just…" he was interrupted by his phone. He rolled his eyes and picked up the receiver. The conversation was short and one-sided. Dropping the phone back in its cradle, he gave a heavy sigh. "That was the DG's office. My presence is required at eight o'clock."

"Is this about al Khamir?"

"Yes. CO19 are still denying it was their commanding officer who gave the order to shoot."

"So it's going to be a 'let's make sure our arses are covered' meeting then?"

"Oh yes," Harry said wearily.

---

Adam looked at his watch; Harry had been with the DG for nearly an hour; it wasn't a good sign. He went back to his report and read through it for the tenth time; there was nothing more he could add. He looked up at the sound of the pods opening and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Harry was back – with two security guards and Debra Langham from HR in tow.

"Harry?"

"I've been suspended." There was no point sugar-coating the news.

"What?" Adam was standing up now.

"It seems CO19, Special Ops, Counter Terrorism, the DG and the Holy bloody Ghost for all I know, think I gave the order for al Khamir to be shot."

"But that's a load of bollocks! Our comms were screwed."

"I know that and you know that. But it seems we're in the minority. No one else had any problems." Harry was breathing hard, the effort of keeping his anger in check starting to tell on him. "I'm here to collect a couple of things from my office and then these gentlemen will see me off the premises."

"This is madness; there must be something we can do." Zaf spoke quietly and urgently into Adam's ear.

"Not now mate."

Harry collected his coat, opened one of his desk drawers and removed a notebook; he then picked up the gold pen lying on his desk and, with a quick glance round, headed for the door. A very nervous Debra Langham stopped him near the pods.

"I, I, er, just need to know what you've taken from your office Mr Pearce. It's for your own protection." She received one of Harry's particularly withering stares and, just for a moment, Adam almost felt sorry for her; almost.

Harry fished the small, black notebook and the pen from his pocket and handed them over. She gave the book a cursory glance and handed the items back. After scribbling something on the clipboard she was holding, she proffered it to him.

"Sign here," she indicated a spot with her pen, "and here," pointing this time to the bottom of the page.

Harry signed with a flourish and then turned to his team. "It's been good working with you all."

"But Harry…" Adam was silenced with a look as the older man stepped forward and held out his hand.

"You take good care, yes? You and Wes."

Despite the warmth of the handshake, Adam felt his stomach turning to ice. Harry shook hands with them all, giving Jo's arm a squeeze as he saw her eyes start to fill with tears.

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine." He spoke reassuringly but she could only trust herself to nod slightly and give him a weak smile.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

They had all regrouped at Adam's apartment to discuss the day's events and plan their next move. After Harry had left the Grid, mayhem had ensued and they had been overrun with visitors. Some were supposedly HR staff, sent to help with 'staff welfare issues', but they seemed more interested in snooping about and attempting to rifle through desks. The arrival of Superintendent Anderson and three of his colleagues to carry out formal interviews had been the catalyst that provoked an eyeball to eyeball confrontation with Adam, which had been defused by Jo.

"So they're convinced Harry gave the order to shoot?" Malcolm spoke quietly, still shocked by the day's proceedings.

"Yes." Adam finished passing round mugs of coffee and sat down. "I don't know how they have any idea of who said what, our comms were shot to shit," he continued.

"But they weren't…"

"Malcolm, we couldn't hear you and you couldn't hear us. All we had was an earful of feedback and static."

"I know," Malcolm sat forward in his seat, "but I tested all the equipment this morning. It's all in perfect working order."

"So what caused the problem then? A localised jamming device?" Zaf offered.

Malcolm looked thoughtful, "possibly. _Very_ localised as well; CO19 and Special Forces insist they had no problems whatsoever."

"So it must have been someone…"

"On the ground, very close to you and Harry." Malcolm completed Adam's sentence.

"You know what this means?" Zaf looked round the room at his colleagues, "the whole thing, including al Khamir's escape, must have been a set-up."

There was silence as they contemplated the conclusion just reached.

"Mace!" Adam spat the name out. "That bastard must be behind it. He's set Harry up."

Zaf caught his eye, "so, back-up plan time?"

Adam nodded, "yes, back-up plan time."

Malcolm coughed slightly. "Actually, I rather think Harry has his own back-up plan; one that doesn't involve using Ruth."

* * *

**You know the drill - send me a review and I'll post the next chapter :) **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I woke up this morning and realised I still don't own anything...**

**Thanks Em ;-)  
**

* * *

**Requiem for a Love Affair**

**Chapter 5**

Malcolm hurried along the street, anxious to get out of the rain and into the warmth of his home. It had been three days since Harry's suspension and they were still being subjected to unannounced visits by the police. The permanent presence of two of Debra Langham's team did nothing to enhance the atmosphere on the Grid either. As he waited at the pedestrian crossing, his attention was caught by a man handing out leaflets. He seemed to be one of the usual types found on various street corners in London preaching their own brand of religion.

He was about to turn away when he spotted the board propped up against the railings near the preacher. On it was written 'Ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.' He stood stock-still, oblivious to the crowds pushing past him to cross the road. He knew the quote. It was from John: Chapter 8, Verse 32 if his memory served him correctly…and it meant it was time to put Harry's plan into action.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Tucked away in her quiet, neat house, Ruth was avidly trawling through every internet news site she could find. Although Harry's name had not been published, she knew he was the 'senior security services officer' who had been suspended following the death of Azhar al Khamir. After the initial flood of information had abated, the media were reduced to rehashing the story, desperately trying to find a new angle or lead. They had now taken to raking over the Cotterdam scandal.

Ruth felt ill every time she read that name; it had meant the end of her old life, leaving her friends, her job and Harry. She closed her eyes to try and stop the tears she could feel forming. If only she hadn't loved him… Her heart lurched at the thought; she couldn't imagine _not_ loving him. Her thoughts became darker; wasn't love supposed to be a wonderful and joyous thing that made you happy? All it had done in the end was tear them apart; she hadn't even let him say 'I love you'. If she didn't hear the words then a small part of her could pretend it wasn't true. It had proved to be a pointless endeavour; she had seen it in his eyes and felt it when she kissed him. He did love her and she loved him.

She rubbed her hands vigorously over her face to try and scrub away the tears and the memories. She had to pull herself together and get ready to go to her neighbour's for dinner. Claudia was kind and generous but still something of an unknown quantity. Ruth would have to put on her best smile, make polite conversation and try to keep her thoughts away from events in London.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Malcolm worked quickly and methodically; he'd already done the initial preparations when Harry had finally revealed what he wanted the Number 10 website for. He knew which dead letter drop to collect the information from, and he had rented an office in an anonymous block to use as the headquarters of the dummy company he had set up. The IT equipment was all leased and everything was paid for six months in advance; by the time any more payments were due, he'd be long gone and the computers would have been rendered useless.

Despite being pressed by his colleagues to reveal more information about Harry's plan, he had resisted; he didn't want any of them implicated. Reluctantly, they had agreed to let him get on with it, but only after Adam had extracted a promise that he would let him know immediately if anything went wrong or he needed help. Malcolm had agreed willingly, grateful for the younger man's support and trust.

As he tapped at the keyboard, a familiar feeling of anticipation started to dissipate his nerves. He could do this; he'd got into far more secure websites than this one. Tonight though, was just a dry run; the planting of a slightly corrupt version of a press release with the name of an MP spelt three different ways. It would be enough to prove he could get into the system undetected and would provide some amusement when the MP in question, noted for his vanity, complained vociferously.

---

Five days later, Malcolm was back in his rented office, ready to upload Harry's electronic time bomb. As he had prepared the web pages, he had been stunned by what he had read. He'd known Mace was a devious and untrustworthy bastard of gold medal standard but the revelations that were about to be unleashed were beyond anything even Malcolm had thought he was capable of.

With a final check, Malcolm clicked the mouse button and watched the counter on his screen: _80 percent, 100 percent, upload completed_. It was done. Ten minutes later he gathered up his belongings, turned the light out and headed home.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"_The Prime Minister's Office is facing a raft of embarrassing questions this morning after allegations concerning Oliver Mace, the National Security Co-ordinator, were published on the Number 10 Press Office website. Updated biographical information flagged in the 'What's New' section of the site contained information relating to Mr Mace's activities in Kosovo and Northern Ireland and he is implicated in the deaths of several agents who were working on behalf of the Security and Intelligence Services. The revelations are believed to have come from a book written by Clive McTaggart, a former Security Services officer, who committed suicide in 2005. Today's disclosures throw into doubt the repeated denials of the existence of Mr McTaggart's memoirs. A police spokeswoman confirmed detectives are investigating several death threats made against Mr Mace. The website was shutdown as soon the problem was discovered but Number 10 have admitted it was too late to stop the information being copied and made available via other internet resources."_

Adam switched the television off and looked at his colleagues. "Oh dear, seems Oliver's in a spot of trouble."

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer bloke," Zaf replied grinning.

"We can't afford to get complacent though; we need to prove Harry didn't give the order to shoot al Khamir. Malcolm, any more ideas about the comms interference?"

"Yes, I think I may have something."

---

Harry had also been watching the news but did not feel particularly euphoric. He had bought himself some time and, hopefully, derailed Oliver's career permanently. He still couldn't shake the sense of foreboding though that clouded his thoughts. Clive McTaggart's memoirs had been sitting in a safe deposit box the best part of three years; an insurance policy he had hoped he would never need. He had contemplated using them to help Ruth but there had not been enough time to get everything organised. Now he had played his trump card, at least where Mace was concerned. There was still plenty in the book that could be used but Harry needed to keep something in reserve.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

On impulse, Ruth had decided to take the ferry across Lake Como from Varenna to Mevaggio. She had spent the previous day in Milan with her neighbour, trailing from store to store as they hunted for a birthday present for Claudia's precocious teenage niece. Shopping was not her favourite pastime but she had been talked into going. It had, of course, been a total coincidence that they had bumped into Patrizio, who was Claudia's tall, handsome and single cousin, and ended up having a rather long lunch with him.

Her musings over her neighbour's attempts at matchmaking were interrupted by the day old copy of The Times she saw tucked into the rack outside the café. Ruth found herself a table, ordered a cappuccino and picked up the paper. She read the article twice, trying to take in as much detail as possible. There was only one person who could have made Clive McTaggart's revelations public: Harry. Somehow he must have got hold of McTaggart's book; she wondered how long he'd had it. She finished her coffee and returned the newspaper to the rack. Wandering aimlessly around the town, she tried to marshal her thoughts. Harry had taken a big risk; Mace must know he and Clive had been friends, so surely it was only a matter of time before he worked out what Harry had done.

Ruth found herself back at the pier and boarded the ferry back to Varenna. She needed to return to the sanctuary of her house and think about what to do next.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Harry looked at the bottle of whisky in his hand: he'd picked it up and taken the cap off almost as a reflex action. He sighed; that was the trouble with being suspended – too much time on his hands. There was so much surveillance on him that going anywhere required detailed planning. He'd managed a quick meeting with Adam but couldn't risk anything more. He screwed the lid back on the bottle and put it back on the side. He wasn't going to spend his enforced leave getting drunk – he needed his wits about him.

He thought back to the last time he had consumed a large amount of alcohol. It had been the first night after Ruth had left; when he had finally got home after spending hours fending off questions about what had happened… after a tense meeting with the DG and an awkward telephone conversation with Juliet. He had reached for the whisky and, before he knew it, the almost full bottle was empty and his head was spinning. He had spent the next hour puking his guts up before sitting on the bathroom floor, crying like a baby. At some point he had dragged himself to bed, only to be woken a few minutes later, it had seemed, by his driver's incessant ringing of the doorbell.

It had been the only time he had allowed himself to wallow in such self-pity; it wouldn't bring Ruth back and she would not be impressed by his behaviour either. As his pounding headache had subsided, he'd vowed to deal with whatever was thrown at him and somehow find a way of clearing her name.

A loud knock at the front door terminated his reminiscing. He wasn't expecting any visitors and he entertained himself with the thought that perhaps it was one of the surveillance team wanting to use the bathroom. Harry was thinking of something suitably pithy to say when he opened the door. The words died on his lips as he looked at his late night caller: Oliver Mace.

"Harry, I need to talk to you."

"Oliver, what an unpleasant surprise. What do you want?" Neither man was going to bother with the niceties of polite conversation.

"Not on the doorstep."

"Why? Worried the neighbours might see you talking to me?" Harry replied airily.

"Stop pissing about and let me in," Oliver growled.

Reluctantly Harry stood to one side to allow Mace over the threshold. He was followed by a tall, heavily-set man wearing an ill-fitting suit.

"Brought a friend? How sweet; I didn't know you had any."

"I don't have time for your childish comments. I'm here to talk about McTaggart's memoirs. What the Hell do you think you're playing at?"

Harry watched Oliver deliver his short speech and noted the dark circles under his eyes and his pallor, which was even more deathly-white than usual. "I don't know what you mean," he replied quietly.

"Yes you do! McTaggart was your friend; his bloody memoirs disappeared after he committed suicide. You are the only person he would have trusted with them." Mace was mere inches from Harry as he spoke.

"How dare you come into my home, uninvited, and make these insane allegations."

"They are not insane; they're true!" Mace was shouting now and something inside Harry snapped.

"Get out! Get the Hell out of my house now Oliver!"

"Why? What are you going to do if I don't?" His tone was goading, pushing Harry to do something reckless.

"God help me Oliver, next time I'll cut more than your arm." The words were spoken quietly but the menace behind them was unmistakeable.

The bodyguard, who had remained impassive during the increasingly heated exchange, moved forward. "I think we should leave sir." Reluctantly, Mace moved towards the front door.

"Don't think you've won Harry; the war has only just begun."

Slamming the door hard and then leaning heavily against it, Harry became aware that his heart was racing. He took several deep breaths before heading back towards the living room and pouring himself a large measure of whisky; he'd decided to forget his earlier vow of abstinence. _Damn Oliver Mace_, he thought, _damn him to Hell_…and if Harry had anything to do with it, that's exactly where he'd be going.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"So Mr Carter, tell me again what you know about Clive McTaggart." Superintendent Anderson sounded weary.

"I've already told you, I don't know anything other than he was ex-Security Services and he committed suicide in 2005." Adam was sticking to the answers he'd already given.

"What about Mr Pearce's relationship with McTaggart?"

"As I understand it, they knew each other and had worked together several times."

"Thank you so much for your help." The policeman's tone was openly sarcastic.

"My pleasure."

Anderson's phone rang and he answered it with a barked 'what'. He listened in silence before motioning Adam to sit back down again. "When was the last time you saw Oliver Mace?"

"What?"

"Oliver Mace – when was the last time you saw him?"

"Three days ago; he turned up at Thames House unannounced. Why?" The sudden change in direction of the questioning made Adam feel uneasy.

"He seems to have disappeared."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The heavy rain and an over-hyped football match meant the streets were deserted. He was sure no one had followed him but he stopped in a darkened doorway to give the street a final check. Satisfied that he was alone, he retrieved the mobile phone from his pocket and switched it on as he walked quickly towards the bridge. It beeped at him, indicating he had voicemail. He pressed a button and held the phone to his ear:

"Good afternoon sir, this is Environmental Health. We can confirm that your vermin problem has been successfully dealt with."

He smiled, turned the phone off, dismantled it and deposited all the parts into the dark, swirling water. He quickly glanced round before heading back in the direction he had come from.

* * *

**See? You send me reviews, I keep posting chapters... can't promise the next one will get done so quick but don't let that stop you... Thanks!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I've checked but I still don't own anything... **

**Thanks Em :) **

* * *

**Requiem for a love affair**

**Chapter 6**

Adam and Zaf were sitting in the meeting room, quietly discussing whether to progress with their plan to frame Oliver Mace for Ruth's 'murder', when Jo came bursting through the door.

"You have to see this!" When neither man moved, she grabbed Zaf's arm and hauled him out of his seat. "Now!!"

With Adam hot on their heels, they almost ran back onto the Grid. Malcolm was standing in front of the television with a look of disbelief on his face.

"…_it's not known how long the body had been in the car but police sources have indicated that the state of decomposition suggests death occurred seven to ten days ago. Identification of the remains is expected to take several days although unconfirmed reports suggest personal items found with the body indicate it is Oliver Mace, who was reported missing by his wife two weeks ago after he failed to return to his Surrey home. Both police and Security Service spokesmen have said it is 'unhelpful' to speculate on the identity of the victim or the cause of death."_

"Jesus." Adam was the first to find his voice. "Where did they find him?"

"In the boot of a BMW in one of the long-term car parks at Heathrow. Apparently, someone hit it as they parked and set the alarm off. The Security guards decided they didn't like the smell coming from it and called the police." Malcolm spoke carefully, still stunned by what he had seen on the news.

Adam sat on the edge of his desk, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "You know it's only a matter of time before Anderson and his merry men are back here asking more questions."

"They'll drag Harry back in again," Zaf said matter-of-factly.

"Have you got anywhere with that old mate of yours? Be nice if we could find out what plod are planning for him _before_ the event."

Zaf nodded, "I'm working on it."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Harry was woken by a loud knocking at his front door. He cursed profusely as he hauled himself out of bed; he hadn't been asleep long, his mind racing as he considered his seemingly diminishing options to extract himself from his predicament. He glanced at the kitchen clock as he passed: 6.45 a.m. There was another heavy knock at the door just as he reached for the latch.

"Mr Pearce, please open the door, we need to speak to you."

Harry groaned. Even though the words were muffled, he recognised the voice. He yanked the door open and glowered at Superintendent Anderson.

"What do you want?"

"Good morning _sir_, we need a word. Not here, down at the station. Get dressed." The whole explanation was delivered in one breath and, as Anderson finished speaking, two uniformed policemen moved past him and stood looking expectantly at Harry.

"You don't mind if these officers keep you company do you?" It was a statement not a question.

Reluctantly, Harry let them in, but quickly blocked the doorway when the Superintendent moved to follow them. "Not you." He shut the door none too gently and turned to face the two policemen. "Don't touch anything," he growled at them.

---

There was frustration on both sides of the table as the last hour had been spent going round in circles. Anderson asked the same questions and Harry gave him the same answers. Eventually, Harry's solicitor, whose presence seemed to be another bone of contention, had ended the interview.

"So do you have any evidence Superintendent? As I understand it, you haven't even formally identified the body yet so I fail to see why my client is here." Gordon McMurray was a tall, no-nonsense Scot and an old friend of Harry's.

"Mr Pearce did threaten Mr Mace, in the presence of an independent witness."

Harry snorted, opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again when he saw the look on McMurray's face.

"I think the independence of Mr Mace's witness could be called into question, don't you? This is the second time you have questioned Mr Pearce about these allegations. You're on a fishing expedition Superintendent; you have no grounds to continue questioning my client, who, as you helpfully pointed out at the beginning of this interview, is not under arrest and so may leave at anytime." Harry and his solicitor stood up and headed for the door.

"Don't make any travel plans Mr Pearce," Anderson called after them.

---

The car halted at a set of traffic lights and McMurray looked across at Harry. "That wasn't a very clever thing to say to Mace."

"I just wanted him out of my house."

"So you thought threatening him would be more effective than asking him to leave?"

Harry rubbed his hand over his face, "I know it was bloody stupid."

They were on the move again.

"At least all the surveillance on you will give you a rock-solid alibi," a pause, "unless you've been practising your counter-surveillance skills." McMurray shot him a sideways look and the comment hung in the air.

They rolled to a stop outside Harry's house and he felt Gordon's hand on his arm as he started to get out of the car.

"If you want me to help you Harry, I have to know the truth; the _whole_ truth, to coin a hackneyed old phrase."

"I didn't kill Mace."

"Harry…"

"Thanks for the advice," he was out of the car now, "and the lift. Send me your bill." He was halfway to his front door before he called over his shoulder, "Bye Gordon."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Ruth swore loudly as the full cup of coffee slipped out of her grasp and smashed on the kitchen floor. She made a grab for the sink, suddenly feeling dizzy. Caffeine was probably not a good idea given the current state of her nerves. The discovery of Mace's body was splashed across every news channel and she'd watched the reports with a mixture of disbelief and fear, surprised at her own reaction. She wasn't sorry Mace was dead but she couldn't shake the sense of unease that had settled on her. However much she tried not to think about it, she knew that Harry was somehow responsible for Oliver's death. He had made McTaggart's revelations public and this had undoubtedly, to her mind at least, led to Mace being killed.

She took a few deep breaths before crouching down to pick up the broken pieces of china and mop up the spilt coffee. If only she could talk to Harry and find out what had happened. Whatever he may think, she wasn't naïve; she knew about his past; knew he had been responsible for the deaths of others, in one way or another. With Mace though, it was just…so personal. It would be simple, she thought, to just pick the phone up and talk to him. It wasn't as if she hadn't thought about doing it before; she'd even got as far as lifting up the receiver and dialling the first few digits of his number.

But it wasn't simple; nothing was where she and Harry were concerned. She didn't even know what she would say to him if she did call him. _'Hello, it's Ruth; you remember me, the woman you loved, who decided to sacrifice everything to expose a torture scandal and protect you. How are you?'_ She felt mildly hysterical at the prospect. It was madness. His phone was probably tapped; he'd be under surveillance…and he might not even want to speak to her. No, Harry was not the person she should contact. An idea she had considered, and then discarded, resurfaced: she should try to get in touch with Malcolm. She was sure he would have been behind getting the McTaggart revelations onto the Number 10 website. As much as she loved Harry, she knew he didn't have the technical knowledge required.

Her mind was made up – she would get a message to Malcolm and find out what was going on.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The repeated knocking at the front door failed to get any response.

"Put it in."

It took several attempts but eventually there was the sound of splintering wood as the door finally parted company from the frame. Uniformed police streamed into the house with Anderson close behind. Shouts of 'Mr Pearce, it's the police, we have a warrant' failed to get any response and it quickly became clear the house was deserted.

"Shit," Anderson said to no one in particular. _What was the point of having twenty-four hour surveillance if Harry Pearce could evade it?_ "Right, take this place apart!" he shouted at the nearest officer.

---

Zaf sat with his feet up on his desk, scrunching bits of paper up into small balls and throwing them at a plastic cup balanced on the edge of Adam's desk, and shouting 'goal' every time one of the paper missiles landed in the cup.

"Zaf!" Jo was getting more and more irritated.

"Goal!"

She moved quickly and, with a violent sweep of her hand, the cup landed in the waste bin.

"Hey! What did you do that for?" Zaf swung his legs of his desk and straightened up in his seat.

"Because you're getting on my bloody nerves!"

"Come on you two, don't argue," Malcolm spoke quietly. "We can't afford to give them any ammunition," he briefly looked at the two policemen who were standing near the pods, watching them.

As predicted, Anderson had turned up, accompanied by his own Detective Inspector and a Detective Superintendent from the Major Incident Team. Malcolm had accurately observed that the Met now seemed to be engaged in some sort of internecine warfare as two different teams argued over who was responsible for investigating Mace's death.

Adam appeared, grim-faced, from the meeting room. "You're next Zaf."

The younger man got up and headed in the direction his colleague had come from.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Zaf enjoyed the forty minutes he spent being interviewed, or rather, _not_ being interviewed. He'd managed to get Anderson to tie himself in knots and it was only the intervention of the MIT Superintendent, called Hexley, which had prevented Zaf from being punched.

Chastised, but still angry, Anderson continued, "stop fucking about and tell me how you and your cronies got Harry Pearce out of his house."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Zaf replied calmly.

"So what do you think happened?" It was Hexley who spoke this time.

"I don't know."

"Humour me."

"I've told you, I don't know," Zaf held the policeman's gaze.

"Thank you Mr Younis." Hexley terminated the interview without warning. He watched Zaf leave and then turned to Anderson.

"This is a total waste of time. Even if any of them do know how Pearce got out of his house unobserved, they're not going to tell us."

"They know!" Anderson's temper flared again.

"You should take your foul mood out on the surveillance team; after all, they screwed up."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

It was pitch dark and the rain-slicked road was narrow with tight bends that could catch an unwary motorist by surprise. The driver slowed to a halt and risked a quick look at his map. The best spot was only another quarter mile or so. He engaged the gear selector and drove off, keeping his speed down so that he wouldn't miss the lay-by. He switched the headlights off just before he came to a stop. Now it was just a question of waiting.

* * *

**Well, if you want to know what happens next, send me a review! Thanks. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: For some reason, I still don't own anything...**

**Thanks Em, for the beta and the help :)

* * *

**

Requiem for a love affair

**Chapter 7**

The two men stood and watched the car gather speed as the figure in the driver's seat slumped over the steering wheel. They heard the bang as it hit the roadside fence and then the sound of the undergrowth being torn up. Shortly afterwards, there was the noise of the engine revving loudly as the wheels lost contact with solid ground. That was followed by several thuds and finally a loud explosion, which momentarily lit up the night sky. It was done. They climbed into a battered Land Rover and the driver spoke to his passenger:

"So, Newcastle then?"

"Yes, Newcastle."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Adam's face told them the news wasn't good.

"So it's him?" Zaf asked quietly.

"It's looking like it. There's CCTV from earlier in the evening showing him and the car, at a petrol station in Keswick. Identification of the body will need to be verified by dental records though – there's not much left."

Jo's hand flew up to her mouth and she stifled a sob. Zaf moved towards her and put an arm around her shoulder. "Do the police know what happened?"

"They won't say one way or another. It could have been an accident, it could have been deliberate." Adam had sat down, suddenly overcome with weariness and grief.

"Deliberate, as in he did it himself, or deliberate, as in someone else did it?" Zaf's words were slightly muffled as he rested his cheek on Jo's head as she started to cry.

Adam was silent, lost in his own thoughts.

"Mate?"

"What? Sorry, the traffic Sergeant was non-committal. All he said was it's a dangerous bit of road and it wouldn't be the first time someone's misjudged the bend."

Jo partially extricated herself from Zaf's grasp, sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. "I don't understand what Harry was doing there. Why didn't he just leave the country if he was trying to avoid being arrested?" She looked at each man in turn, hoping one of them had an answer for her. They didn't.

---

Two days later, the confirmation came through. The dead man found in the burnt-out Audi in the Lake District was Harry Pearce. The call was short and to the point, and left Adam feeling numb. He'd barely put the phone down when it rang again and he was summonsed to see the DG.

When he returned, he broke the news that he was the new head of Section D, in the interim at least. As they sat in The George that evening, he told the others he hadn't wanted the job but the DG was insistent. Later on, after more alcohol had been consumed, he admitted he wasn't even sure he wanted to remain in the service. His confession elicited similar sentiments from his colleagues, the last few weeks having taken a heavy toll on all of them.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Superintendent Anderson kicked the waste paper bin across his office and watched it spew its contents over the carpet. "I don't believe that fucking bastard cheated us."

"Let it go Ben." Hexley was tired and he despised histrionics, especially in fellow police officers.

"No Tony, I will not let it go." The bin received another violent kick and it clanged loudly against the radiator.

"It's over. Harry Pearce is dead, burnt to a crisp on a B road in the Lake District. Well to be accurate, burnt to a crisp just _off_ a B road."

Anderson muttered something but Hexley ignored him and, pulling his jacket on, continued:

"The investigation's finished. You've seen the evidence Oliver Mace obtained; it proves Harry Pearce was responsible for the death of that Evershed woman. When Pearce found out Mace had discovered the truth, he killed him. Now, whether Pearce killed himself or died in an accident, is down to Cumbria traffic police to decide. Frankly, I don't care either way. All the loose ends, from our point of view at least, are tied up so…job done."

"I just don't understand how Pearce found out we were about to arrest him." Anderson was now slouched in his seat scowling, "and that poxy surveillance team still haven't explained how he got out of his house undetected. They keep whinging about their comms being jammed."

"Well it was probably just one of those things Ben." Hexley was by the door, gripping the handle as he spoke, "I've got to go; I have a double murder in Stoke Newington to deal with."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Ruth knew she needed to think carefully about she was going to contact Malcolm. She wasn't going to do anything as straightforward as emailing him; the message might get intercepted or go astray. No; she would get back into the Thames House systems and leave something cryptic for him, something only Malcolm would understand. So she had found herself back in Milan, in one of the internet cafés she had used before, keeping one eye on the screen in front of her and the other on the people around her. She typed her message and then carefully covered any traces of her unauthorised visit, relieved to have completed her task.

As she finished tidying her possessions away, a website news ticker caught her eye. She clicked on the moving words and felt her world cave in as she struggled to focus on the screen in front of her: _the man who died in a car accident near Buttermere in the Lake District …same officer suspended following the shooting of…suspected of being involved in the death of Oliver Mace… _She blinked hard several times but it was no good. It wouldn't change the truth of what she was seeing – Harry was dead. She could feel the bile rising in her throat; she needed to find somewhere quiet to think. Managing to find the strength to stand, she headed, on very shaky legs, towards the door. The young man behind the counter called after her but she didn't hear him so he followed her out onto the pavement. She jumped as she felt a hand on her arm and looked blankly at him for a few moments until she realised he was holding her bag.

Ruth mumbled her thanks, took the small backpack from him and started walking. She had no idea where she was going but ended up outside the Duomo and something compelled her to go inside. The cool interior was a contrast to the heat of the city outside and she found herself a seat away from the chattering visitors exploring the building. All her plans had been rendered futile; there was no point checking Malcolm had got her message; no point telling him her idea to help clear Harry's name. It was too late.

---

Somehow, she had got herself home although she barely remembered the train journey or the cab ride to her house. She vaguely recalled the taxi driver asking her if she was alright as he had helped her out of the car and she had muttered something about feeling unwell.

The next few days passed in a similar haze as she felt detached from her surroundings. The only thing she was conscious of was the pain of her grief for the man she loved. Her misery remained unarticulated until Claudia, who had been away for a few days, called in to see her and found her crying uncontrollably. Her friend held her tightly, providing unquestioning comfort until Ruth had managed to explain, a little incoherently, the reason for her tears. It was not the unvarnished truth because, even in the midst of her despair, she knew she couldn't reveal everything.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Malcolm blinked and looked again at the screen. It couldn't be…but it was: Ruth. Nobody else would do it – nobody else was capable of doing it, at least not without getting caught red-handed. But she had been there, in the inner sanctum, and had left him a message: _Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't._ His heart ached for his dear friend; she can't have known about Harry when she sent it.

In addition to the quote, there were a series of numbers, which at first appeared to be meaningless. His brow furrowed as he studied them and then he realised the first set were a date and time – probably the next occasion she intended to be online. The second set had him stumped for a while until something clicked in his head – it was a location, an _electronic_ location. She clearly wasn't going to risk getting back into the Thames House systems so she would be waiting for him in the cyber equivalent of a doghouse. Malcolm sighed to himself. In three days time, if Ruth was online at the appointed hour, he would have to explain to her what had happened. But if she had already found out…he doubted she would make contact again. All he could do was wait and see.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Ruth drifted through the following weeks; the numbing grief that engulfed her barely seeming to lessen. Her pain was also fuelled by her guilt over leaving Harry all those months ago_. If only she hadn't gone to Maudsley's house; if only she hadn't been so determined to be the one to take the blame; if only… _Her life appeared to consist of 'if onlys' that ate away at her soul.

Eventually, she agreed to spend a few days in Vieste with Claudia. The change of scene gave her something else to try and focus on, although the aching emptiness in her heart was undiminished. She knew it was time to make a decision; either she wallowed in her grief, or she tried to find some peace and concentrate on her new life. By the time they returned to Varenna, Ruth felt slightly more focused. She'd accepted that the sense of loss she felt would never go away but gradually she would push it into a dark corner of her mind and, like an old photograph in a drawer, occasionally take it out and relive old memories whilst shedding new tears.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

He scanned the crowds carefully, the welter of tourists both a blessing and a curse. She'd be easy to miss given the number of people in the town, but then so would he. The risk of being recognised was outweighed by his need to be sure he'd found the right place; that she was here. It had been a long walk from the car park and he was hot. He took his sunglasses off to wipe the sweat out of his eyes and, as he ran his hand over his face, he felt the stubble on his chin and wondered how long it had been since he had shaved. _Four days? No, five; the hotel in Lugano_. The last decent bed he'd had as well, not that he'd slept much recently. His joints still felt stiff from spending the previous night in the car. The exceptionally good weather and the holiday season in full swing had conspired against him and he'd not been able to find a room. On reflection that was probably a good thing; no hotel, no paper trail. Even paying cash didn't guarantee freedom from intense scrutiny of identification and an insistence on providing a receipt.

He bought a bottle of mineral water from a café at the lakeside and drank it as he watched the queues of passengers lining up for the ferry. It was a beautiful day for a trip on the water and he wondered if he'd ever be able to be an ordinary sightseer. He returned to his study of the faces around him. She wasn't amongst them so he decided to wander back through the town and return to the car. He didn't want to risk trying to find her house in daylight; judging from the map it was located near the end of a track, on the edge of a small cluster of buildings. He couldn't chance being seen so he'd have to wait until nightfall. In the meantime, he would attempt to find somewhere quiet to get a few hours rest.

---

The evening was still warm and he could feel the droplets of sweat running down his back as he steered the dusty Mercedes towards the turning he needed. He switched off the headlights and relied on the moonlight to guide him along the first part of the rough track and braked gently as it widened. He carefully turned the car round so it was facing towards the main road. He knew the track came to a dead end about two hundred yards after the last building and he wanted the car pointing in the right direction in case he needed to leave in a hurry. He reversed back a few yards and parked close to the fence, locking the car with the key rather than the remote; the tell-tale flash of the lights sure to betray his presence.

He walked up the track, trying to stay in the shadows as much as possible. There were very few lights on in the buildings he passed and he realised that at least two of them were uninhabited. He slowed as he neared the house he wanted; it appeared to be in darkness and he wondered if anyone was there. He veered off the track and walked quietly along the side of the building until he reached a door. There was a faint light from an adjacent room, which provided just enough illumination to show he was looking into the kitchen. He tried the handle and found the door unlocked. He opened it a few centimetres and then stopped and listened. Silence. His heart was racing and he took several deep breaths before opening the door wider and stepping inside.

He inched forward, trying to detect any noise above the blood pounding in his own ears; there was definitely something. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he heard footsteps and then a figure appeared in the doorway in front of him.

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**Hmmm, it's probably a bit naughty of me to leave it there but if you send me a review, I'll try and post the next chapter quickly :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Please note: this chapter has adult content so if you are easily offended, you may want to look away now...**

** Disclaimer: I keep asking but apparently it all belongs to Kudos and the BBC...**

**Thanks Em ;)  
**

* * *

**Requiem for a love affair **

**Chapter 8**

Ruth stood and stared at the man in her kitchen. It couldn't possibly be him; he was dead. She watched, rooted to the spot, as he moved towards her.

He was close enough now to smell her perfume and hear her erratic breathing. Without warning, she slapped his face hard and he could taste blood in his mouth. It was the reaction he had half-expected but it was still a shock.

"You bastard. You fucking bastard." The clipped tone made the obscenity seem worse. "Three months Harry." A pause. "I have spent the last three months thinking you were dead. Do you have any idea what that was like? Any concept?"

"There was no other way."

"No other way?" She spat the words back at him and moved closer. He could see the tension in her face, her fists clenched.

"Things moved quickly. There was nothing else I could do… I wanted to…"

Her fists pummelled his shoulders. She had a surprising strength and he staggered back slightly under the onslaught. Her voice began to rise as the suppressed hysteria finally surfaced.

"I thought you were dead! I thought you were dead! You bastard, I thought you were dead!"

He let her hit him for a few more moments, the pain from her blows affirmation that she still felt something for him, even if was more akin to hate than love. He hadn't been convinced he would ever see her again after she had climbed onto that Thames barge and left him, bereft and grieving on a cold, miserable dockside. He grasped her hands, pulling them away from his shoulders and held them tightly as she tried to continue her assault. She could barely speak now, tears streaming down her face.

"I'm sorry, so sorry." The only words he could find for her; a well-worn platitude delivered with heart and soul.

She stopped trying to fight him and her whole body sagged as her exertions took their toll. Harry was forced to grip her arms tightly to stop her from collapsing onto the floor.

"I'm here and I'm alive; and so are you. Do you understand me?"

Blue-grey eyes clouded with tears looked up at him uncomprehendingly.

"Do you understand Ruth? I'm alive." He shook her slightly to emphasis his words, a sudden anger burning through his veins. He hated himself for what he had put her through. And part of him hated her for what she had done; sacrificing herself, sacrificing them, so he could stay in the service. So he could stay and endure twenty-five months of abject misery and unrelenting battles. Twenty-five months that had ended in a pile of hot, twisted metal on a remote B road. That had ended in scandal, recriminations and revenge, served cold, as recommended.

He pulled her into his embrace, her tears subsiding as he held her. He felt her arms wind round his neck and her mouth found his. Some of her strength had returned, as had some of her anger. She pressed her lips forcefully against his and he willingly acquiesced to her as she pushed her tongue into his mouth with strong, rhythmic strokes. She pulled away from him suddenly and her hands grasped the bottom of his shirt. She tugged at it, moving the soft cotton up his body. He lifted his arms up to assist her and she yanked the garment roughly over his head and discarded it on the floor. Her hands moved to his belt, which she quickly undid. She released the button of his trousers and her fingers momentarily hovered over his zip. He gave an involuntary gasp as she slowly slid the metal teeth apart, scraping a fingernail down his hardened length.

His trousers and underwear had joined his shirt on the floor and he stood in front of her, naked and aroused. She hadn't said a word to him as she stripped him but now she spoke.

"Get on the floor."

He didn't move.

"Get on the floor Harry. Now."

This time he obeyed, never taking his eyes from her as he sat down. She started to remove her own clothes, adding them to the haphazard pile of garments on the floor. Once she was naked, she knelt in front of him, placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back so he was lying on the floor. She straddled him, just below his ribcage, but didn't lower her full weight onto his body. She teased him by gently brushing her wetness against his stomach but avoided his groin. His hands grasped her hips. He desperately wanted her to move down his body so he could enter her and give them both the release they craved.

She resisted his attempts to shift her position, whispering 'not yet', then moved his hands to her chest, encouraging him to massage her breasts. She moaned softly as his hands caressed the soft mounds, his thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples in slow circles. Harry groaned as she began sliding her hand up and down his shaft, her touch firm and measured. He ran his hand gently down her stomach and Ruth lifted her hips slightly, encouraging him to explore further. She ground against his hand as she felt a finger curl inside her.

As she sensed him getting closer to his climax she let go of him and pulled away from his massaging hands. She shifted her position and gently guided him inside her. She gasped at the sensation, closing her eyes only when he was completely within her. Harry fought the urge to thrust into her until her hands grasped his and she started to rock against him, bracing herself against his arms. She no longer needed control of their lovemaking and he willingly pushed himself against her, increasing the speed of his movements as he felt her tighten round him. Her body trembled and he felt the involuntary spasms of her muscles as her orgasm hit her. He followed soon after, letting go inside her while she still shook.

Ruth slowly pulled away from him and sat back on her heels. She ran a shaky hand through her hair before dipping her head briefly. When she looked up again, Harry could see the tears cascading silently down her face. He sat up and held out a hand to her, which she took, lacing her fingers through his.

"I missed… you… so much." The words were interspersed with gulps and sobs.

Harry swallowed, feeling a lump form in his throat as he fought to hold back his own tears. "I missed you too. More than I thought was possible."

She nodded slightly at him and then pulled him closer so she could embrace him. The warmth of her skin and the feel of her tears were enough to make him give in to the urge to cry as well and they sat, bodies entwined, and wept.

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**Well, hope that wasn't too much of a shock... Thanks for all the wonderful reviews and the encouragement. Send me another and I'll post the next chapter. :) **


	9. Chapter 9

**Please Note: This chapter has adult content so if you're easily offended, you might want to leave now.**

**Disclaimer****: I still don't own anything……**

**Thanks Em :-)**

* * *

**Requiem for a love affair **

**Chapter 9**

Harry opened his eyes, aware the right-hand side of his body felt colder; the soft, warm presence that had been there now missing. He turned his head and saw Ruth silhouetted by the window, the early morning light just starting to filter through a gap in the curtains. She had her back to the room and was unaware he had got out bed until he was standing behind her. She turned to face him as he said her name.

"Ruth? Are you alright?"

"Yes… no, I-I'm not sure. I've been having these dreams, well…nightmares really," she pulled the edges of the thin robe she was wearing together; "you are here, with me. As near to me as you are now." She moved her hands so they rested against his chest and he pulled her closer.

"Go on."

"I can feel your heartbeat under my fingers," her right hand skimmed across his skin as she spoke, coming to rest when she found the steady rhythm. "When I ask you to make love to me, you tell me you can't because you're not really here, you're dead…" Her voice was barely a whisper as she continued, "and then you're gone and I wake up crying."

He was silent for a few moments before responding, "Ruth…" he said her name softly and lifted her chin up so he could look into her eyes, "ask me."

There was a moment of confusion before she realised what he meant.

"Make love to me Harry."

His lips met hers in a sensual kiss before he deftly removed her robe, letting it glide over her shoulders before it fell to the floor. He walked them backwards to the bed and pulled her down on top of him as the back of his legs made contact with the edge of the mattress. Before she had a chance to straddle him, he rolled her onto her back, pinning her to the bed. Her left leg was between both of his and he could feel her need for him as she ground against his thigh. He caught hold of her wrists and moved her arms above her head, never breaking eye contact with her as he sought her permission to continue, which she freely gave. Their mouths locked together again in a hungry kiss, lips and tongues desperate for contact.

Gasping, he moved his mouth across her chin and then down her neck, his hot kisses leaving a burning trail on her skin. She moaned softly as he pressed the tip of his tongue into her pulse point before gently sucking on the skin as she arched up towards him. His lips traced across her collar bone before starting a tender journey along her right arm, his teeth nipping gently at the sensitive skin. When he got to her hand, he kissed the palm before biting on the soft mound of flesh under her thumb. He could feel her ragged breaths, hot against his body, as he brushed his mouth over her fingers.

He repeated the process, in reverse order, down her left arm. By the time his mouth met hers again, Ruth was frantic with desire and she sucked his tongue greedily. Harry released her wrists as he moved down her chest and she took the opportunity to grasp his head and press him against her skin. His response was to intensify his efforts as every kiss sought forgiveness and every touch begged for absolution for the pain he had caused her.

He lavished attention on her breasts, kissing and sucking her nipples as she writhed underneath him. The tortuously slow descent of his mouth down her stomach elicited soft moans of pleasure from her, which further enflamed his own desire. His lips moved to her hip and he planted tender kisses on her skin as he caressed her wetness, lovingly tracing the soft, damp folds. His attempts to move down her inner thigh were stopped by Ruth tugging on his hair and he rewarded her by stroking his tongue across her heat as his fingers moved inside her.

Her body shook with the force of her orgasm and Harry lifted his head up so he could look at her face. Her eyes opened as her breathing slowed and he saw the yearning in them. He moved slowly back up her body, placing light kisses on her skin before settling between her legs. He entered her slowly, using her reactions to guide him. He increased his speed as she wrapped her legs round his waist and murmured encouragement in his ear.

His hair was damp with sweat and she could feel beads of perspiration on his back; she knew he was tiring as he fought to hold on, trying to bring her release. She whispered in his ear, giving him the redemption he longed for and she felt him pulsating inside her as he gave in to his body's demands. It was enough to push her over the edge and she surrendered herself to the sensation, vaguely aware of his face, wet with tears, buried in her shoulder.

---

Ruth propped herself up on one elbow and studied Harry. At some point they had disentangled themselves and he had ended up laying half on his side and half on his stomach. His left arm was bent up in front of his face as if he was shielding himself from some unseen night terror, while his right hung loosely over the side of the bed. Her fingers traced over the various scars on his back. She knew where some of them had come from; she'd had more than one illicit trawl through his file. Her hand paused as it touched a small mark on his side – a knife wound. He had suffered a punctured lung on that occasion. Then there was the mottled patch of skin on his right shoulder where he'd made contact with the tarmac as he'd been thrown from a car in Belfast. But that had not been the worst damage he had suffered on that occasion; the brutal beating he had received before being deposited in the road like a bag of rubbish was far more horrific.

She shuddered, wishing she had never read the detailed, clinical description or looked at the photographs of his injuries; 'evidential photographs' as they were coldly described. The doctors hadn't expected him to survive and Ruth took a deep breath, trying to quell the nausea she could feel rising. She had been physically sick after she'd read the report. He had been beaten repeatedly over a period of seventy-two hours; half his ribs had been fractured, all the fingers on his left hand were broken and he'd suffered internal bleeding and concussion. The damage had been compounded by the freezing cold weather, which had brought on hypothermia by the time he was found. But he'd defiantly clung on to life thereby thwarting his attackers. He had also discharged himself early from hospital, a habit he'd obviously not been able to break.

Her hand moved lower, pausing over some fresh grazes on the small of his back. There were bruises beginning to appear underneath them and, as she pressed her fingers into his flesh, he flinched and mumbled something.

Ruth leant over him and kissed the side of his face. "Sorry. I was wondering where you got those scratches from."

Harry twisted his head slightly and smiled sleepily at her. "Your kitchen floor. Stone flags aren't the most comfortable surface."

She apologised again and pressed her lips to his.

"Doesn't matter," he murmured. He shifted slightly and pulled her head down so he could kiss her more deeply.

"Harry…" she reluctantly reclaimed her mouth, "I need to get up, Claudia's dropping in at some point this morning."

"Who's Claudia and can't you put her off?"

"My neighbour and no, she's been very good to me."

"Stay for a bit longer, please. Keep me company."

He looked incredibly vulnerable and, for a moment, she was transported back to the roof of Thames House and a hesitant dinner invitation. "You're exhausted and need to rest." As Ruth spoke, he attempted to roll onto his back but she stopped him. "I'll stay if you go to sleep. Go on," she pressed against him, moulding her body into his.

"Still stubborn," he muttered into his pillow before reaching for her hand and pulling her arm round him, holding her fingers against his chest.

She smiled to herself before kissing his shoulder and resting the side of her face against his back. As she listened to him breathing, she whispered into his skin, "and you're still pig-headed," before drifting off to sleep.

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**Reviews make me write more chapters……..**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer**** – I still don't own anything… **

**Thanks to Em, Helen, Kate and Laurie**

* * *

**   
Requiem for a love affair **

**Chapter 10 **

Harry stretched out in the bed and cursed under his breath as his back protested at the sudden movement. Evidently, it wasn't just sleeping in his car he was too old for. It seemed he'd been naïve about how Ruth would respond to seeing him; an ironic notion. She had been convinced _he_ thought _she_ was naïve but had he really expected her to fall into his arms and smother him in kisses whilst pledging undying love? He had certainly hoped she would be happy to see him but he had been shocked by her reaction; that sudden, angry and intimate response had expressed the depth of her feelings. Their enforced separation had been unbearable for both of them but her agony had been compounded by his faked death. Her quiet revelation of the nightmares she'd suffered had broken his heart and he didn't know how he could ever make it up to her.

The sound of voices from downstairs interrupted his thoughts; the neighbour must have arrived as expected. He sat up carefully and swung his legs out of the bed. He found his watch on the bedside table and squinted at the dial; it was nearly eleven-thirty. It had been years since he'd slept this late and Ruth's assertion that he was exhausted had clearly been accurate. Now though, he needed a shower and a shave. He groaned; his razor, along with everything else, was in his car, which was where he'd left it last night and his clothes…were neatly folded on a chair by the window; her organisational skills were evidently undiminished.

-----

"I didn't realise you had a visitor Louise." A tall, elegant, immaculately dressed brunette surveyed Harry with amused curiosity when he appeared in the kitchen.

Ruth was panic-stricken. "I, well I…"

"Oh, I turned up late and totally unexpectedly." Harry offered his hand, "I'm Robert by the way, an old friend of Louise's."

"It's a pleasure to meet you Robert, I'm Claudia."

"You'll have to forgive my appearance; we spent most of the night catching up. I haven't even got my luggage out of the car yet."

The slight movement of a neatly plucked eyebrow was the only indication of Claudia's interpretation of 'catching up'. "So, have you known Louise a long time?"

"Quite a while. Our paths used to cross on a regular basis."

"Did you work at the University together?" The Italian was obviously well-informed about Ruth's legend.

"No, but Louise used to do research work for me from time to time."

Ruth watched him subtly blending truth and lies into falsehoods that fell easily from his lips; all delivered with smooth, practised charm. She felt a fleeting sense of unease. He'd already demonstrated he would willingly sacrifice his liberty for her by attempting to save her from Mace's machinations. What else had he done in her name?

"If you'll excuse me, I really should get cleaned up." Harry gave a Claudia a dazzling smile and then turned to Ruth, "have you seen my car keys?"

She stared blankly at him.

"I think I must have put them down in here." As he looked at her, he willed her not to say something out of place.

Realisation dawned. "Oh yes, I found them," she held the keys out to him.

Harry smiled at her as he took them. "I won't be long."

As he was about to leave, Claudia spoke:

"Your car, is it the Mercedes with the Swiss license plates?" Harry nodded and she continued, "I wondered who that belonged to."

_Observant as well as intelligent and attractive_, he noted as he held her gaze for a moment; s_omething to bear in mind_.

She turned to Ruth, "you don't mind if I borrow your handsome friend for a few minutes do you? He can walk me home and tell me all about himself."

-----

When Harry returned, Ruth was washing some dishes.

"Claudia seems nice." There was no response. "Ruth?"

"I'd prefer it if you didn't flirt with the neighbours."

"I wasn't flirting, I was being polite," he said evenly.

A plate hit the edge of the sink and cracked. "Shit!"

"Is everything alright?"

"No! It's not bloody alright!" The pieces of broken crockery landed heavily on the draining board. "Christ Harry! I had no idea what name you're using but you seemed more interested in chatting up my glamorous neighbour."

He was stung by the bitterness in her voice.

"I wasn't flirting or chatting her up or doing anything else for that matter. I was making conversation. Don't you think it might have looked a bit suspicious if I'd been offhand or ignored her?"

"I suppose so."

Harry moved closer to her. "She's worried about you. She told me you'd been upset about losing someone close."

"Well, I have been. I thought I'd lost you."

"I know." He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. "She cares about you Ruth. She told me to look after you."

"Did she?" Her words were muffled.

"Yes; and that's what I intend to do."

"Good, because I quite like that idea," she wrinkled her nose slightly and pushed him away, "but you really do need a shower."

"And whose fault is that? I seem to recall you got me all hot and bothered."

"_I_ seem to recall it didn't take that much effort…" she was cut off by a passionate but tender kiss, which she savoured before wriggling out of his grasp. "Please have a shave as well – the designer stubble look doesn't suit you."

"Anything else?"

"No," she shooed him out of the kitchen, "go on and I'll make us some lunch."

-----

A familiar, but much missed, sensation made Ruth turn around. Harry was watching her as he leant casually against the doorframe. Her eyes travelled over him, taking in his appearance. He looked leaner and fitter than when she had left him in London, and younger too, now he was clean-shaven.

"So, do I pass muster then?" He was smiling as he spoke.

"You seem to be in quite good condition for a dead man." She dried her hands as she gazed at him, "come here, I need to do a closer inspection."

Harry pushed himself upright and walked slowly across the floor. He stopped just in front of her and she studied his face carefully, raising a hand to tilt his chin up when she spotted something on his jaw line.

"That's new," she said running a finger over a small red mark, "how did you get it?"

"Someone punched me." At her questioning look he continued, "I probably deserved it."

"Hmmm." She reached up and kissed the scar gently, increasing the pressure as she felt his arms wrap round her. Her lips moved to his neck and she smiled against him when he sighed her name.

They stood for several minutes, contentedly holding on to each other.

"I love you Ruth." He had spoken so quietly she wasn't sure he'd said the words out loud until she met his gaze. There was no mistaking the look in his eyes and months of loneliness and grief started to recede.

"And I love you, always."

She didn't know whether he kissed her or she kissed him; she didn't know anything apart from the taste of his mouth and the sensation of his tongue stroking against hers. When they broke apart, they were both breathless and slightly dazed.

Harry pressed his lips to her forehead before whispering, "we could go back to bed."

"You are incorrigible!" The remark was accompanied by a playful slap on his chest and she felt something in the breast pocket of his shirt. Without waiting to ask him, she retrieved the item.

He watched the emotions pass across her face as she realised what she was holding: the postcard of Offa she had sent him over a year ago.

"You kept it…" her voice was choked and her eyes shone.

"Next to my heart."

She half-laughed, half-sobbed, "You silly, wonderful, romantic old fool."

"Not so old if you don't mind," he murmured as he brushed away a rogue tear that had evaded her attempts to suppress it; "but definitely a fool. I should never have let you get on that boat..."

"Stop," she pressed her fingers against his lips. "What's done is done. No more regrets Harry, please."

He nodded. "OK."

She smiled at him and tucked the small piece of card back into his shirt pocket as he leant down and kissed her. Ruth felt him wince as she slid her arms round his waist. "Is your back still sore?"

"Yes, a bit."

"I've got something for that."

She started to hunt through one of the cupboards and a few moments later turned to face him again holding up what appeared to be a tube of antiseptic cream.

"You'll have to take your shirt off."

He gave her an amused look. "That's how I ended up in this state in the first place."

"Stop complaining," she tugged at the material as he started to undo the buttons.

"I can manage."

"Hmm, you'll have to undo your trousers too." Her fingers were already freeing the buckle of his belt.

"I wouldn't have bothered getting dressed if I'd known you wanted to…"

"Behave!" She glared at him but the effect was lessened as the smile she was trying to hold back broke free.

As Harry removed his shirt, she made him turn round and lean against the counter. Her fingers worked carefully over his damaged skin, the pain diminishing more from her touch than from whatever ointment she was applying.

"Better?"

"Much."

Her hands moved round to his chest and he smiled as he felt her stand on tiptoe and kiss the back of his neck. "Is this all part of the treatment?" he asked her softly.

"Yes it is," her teeth grazed over his earlobe, "and didn't you say something about going back to bed?"

"What about lunch?"

"Lunch can wait."

He laughed, "and I thought _I_ was the incorrigible one."

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**A review would be lovely… and will encourage me to write the next chapter, which starts to tie up a few loose ends **


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I _still _don't own anything...  
**

**Thanks Laurie :)**

* * *

**Requiem for a love affair **

**Chapter 11**

As they lay on their sides facing each other, Harry watched Ruth carefully. She had been sleeping but he knew from the way she was absently chewing her bottom lip that she was awake and worrying about something.

"What are you fretting about?"

"Nothing."

"Come on," he kissed her softly on the cheek, "tell me."

She gave a small sigh before replying, "I was just thinking how stupid I was to keep running away from you."

"Ruth…"

"No! I was stupid, I ran away from a second date; I ran away from you in that hotel corridor and I ran away on that bloody barge…"

"Well you sailed away on that occasion."

"Harry!"

"Sorry," he kissed her again as a placatory gesture, "but I thought we had a 'no more regrets' agreement?"

"We do. It's just… I feel so guilty."

"You have nothing to feel guilty about; nothing whatsoever."

"But-"

"No. Stop arguing with me you stubborn old…"

"Don't you dare call me a mule," she pushed him onto his back, "or I will have to punish you!"

"Mule." Harry laughed at the expression on her face.

"You sod!"

Her indignation was short lived as he kissed her briefly before asking, "Why did you run away from me at Havensworth?"

The question surprised her.

"I suppose I was scared of how I felt," she shrugged, "I couldn't believe you would feel the same way about me." She gave him a rueful smile as he shook his head in disbelief.

"I love you Ruth, very much. I always have."

"I know." She brushed her lips over his, teasing him by pulling away as he responded and then lowering her mouth again.

As she relaxed into his arms, he took advantage of the opportunity to roll her over and pin her to the mattress.

"I think that's enough punishment," he growled.

"Yes," she laughed breathlessly, "now you can make it up to me."

-----

They were sitting on the patio, finishing the bottle of wine that had accompanied their meal. A light-hearted discussion had ensued as to whether they were having a very late lunch - Harry's description; or an early dinner, which was Ruth's view.

"It would have been lunch if you hadn't kept me pinned to the bed most of the afternoon." Her eyes glittered with amusement as she spoke.

"Well, you didn't seem to mind."

"Hmm, I suppose that's a valid point." She went quiet as her gaze shifted to the table top and her fingers started to play with the stem of her glass. "Harry, you will stay won't you?"

"We're still doing abrupt conversation shifts then."

Ruth gave a small laugh. "So it seems." She hesitated before continuing, "You haven't answered my question."

He took a deep breath before he spoke. "Of course I want to stay but there are things I need to tell you, and you may not want me here after you've heard them."

"You don't have to tell me anything." Her tone was defiant but he saw the uncertainty in her eyes.

"Please Ruth, I owe you an explanation."

Eventually she nodded at him and he began his account.

"After you'd left, I hoped that I'd seen the last of Mace but it seems he retained some powerful contacts who were only too happy to help rehabilitate him. I have my suspicions that they were the same people who ensured Juliet was made an offer too good to refuse."

Ruth rolled her eyes, "I doubt she even thought about refusing it Harry."

"Maybe, I don't know. I was certain Mace would get the National Security Co-ordinator post and then it was only a matter of time before he tried to get me out. The escape of a convicted terrorist was an ideal ploy and using one of the Cotterdam seven very apposite. Everything was organised meticulously and al Khamir was told to hide out at his cousin's place and wait for someone to collect him. Instead the police got tipped off about his whereabouts and arrived en masse.

Mace knew we would get called out when al Khamir was found and it was a fairly good bet I'd decide to turn up in person." Harry smiled wryly at Ruth. "Seems I'm a bit predictable at times."

She returned his smile. "Not always; you've certainly surprised me over the last few hours."

He reached across the table and squeezed her hand before continuing with his story:

"We had comms problems as soon as we got there and, at the crucial moment, we lost contact with everyone and al Khamir got shot. Nobody else had any trouble and when Malcolm tested our kit the following day, it was in perfect working order. I got hauled in front of the DG and suspended. That's when I decided it was time to publish Clive McTaggart's memoirs."

"Where did you get them from?" She studied her glass as she spoke.

"He arranged for them to be sent to me if he met a sudden and unexplained death." There was silence as Ruth considered what he'd said.

"There wasn't enough time to use them to help you after Maudsley died." Harry looked imploringly at her.

"I do understand. I didn't exactly give anyone a chance to talk me out of leaving or come up with an alternative plan did I?"

"No, you didn't," he interlaced his fingers with hers, "but I understand why."

Her eyes met his again and she swallowed, her throat dry, as she prepared to ask her next question. "Mace; what happened? Did you…? "

"You know Mace was linked to the death of several agents in Kosovo although it was nearly impossible to prove anything. There was one agent in particular codenamed Firefly; a woman, well a girl really. She was eighteen but looked younger. He used her to trap a Serb called Mirkovic who had a taste for teenage girls."

"She was a honey-trap? Wasn't she a bit young for that?"

"Yes, far too young but Mirkovic knew the Intelligence services were after him so he was wary of any older women who approached him. It was supposed to be a straightforward operation; Firefly was to meet him in a club, get chatted up and then agree to go back to his apartment. Mace's team would follow them, stage a road accident and whisk him away in the confusion. Things didn't go to plan though; Mirkovic had a decoy car, which Mace's people went after. By the time they realised what had happened, it was too late. Mirkovic had taken her to a hotel and he…"

"Raped her?"

Harry's grip on Ruth's hand tightened until it was painful and she was forced to reclaim it.

"Sorry, sorry sweetheart." His voice was rough with emotion and he took a large mouthful of wine before continuing. "Rape is too inadequate a word for what he did to her. He knew it was a set-up all along so he brutally and repeatedly violated her in every way you can imagine, and a few more besides. Then his men dumped her in the street outside the apartment block Mace was using."

"What happened to her?"

"She was patched up by a local doctor and then taken to a US military hospital. Mace called in some favours with the Americans and fabricated whatever lies were necessary to cover up the truth. The poor girl died a few days later."

"How did Clive find out about it?" Ruth poured the last of the wine into Harry's glass.

"One of Mace's team, Andrew Martinson, was posted to London a few weeks after the girl died. He met Clive at a security briefing and they got chatting about Kosovo. A few days later he turned up on Clive's doorstep in a terrible state and ended up telling him the whole story. On the way back to his flat, Martinson wrapped his car round a lamppost. The police said he was drunk."

"Was he?"

"Clive swore blind Martinson was sober when he left. Someone arranged the accident and rigged the police report."

"Mace?"

"Most likely."

Ruth considered what he'd said. "I think I need another drink before I hear any more."

-----

They were now sitting side by side, with a fresh bottle of wine on the table in front of them. Ruth prompted Harry to continue his story.

"So what happened after Martinson died? Did Clive approach Mace?"

"No. All he had to go on was what Martinson had told him. But he did some digging and managed to get some information about the girl. He discovered she had two brothers and somehow they found out what really happened to her and who was to blame."

"Clive told them?"

"I think so, or he told someone else who passed the information on. Mirkovic was the first to die – shot during an argument over a card game. Mace's second-in-command was fatally stabbed in a fight in a bar and, about a month later, the rest of the team were killed by a car bomb."

"But they never caught up with Mace?"

"No. They got close a couple of times but he always seemed to evade them."

"That bastard had the luck of the devil!" There was a rare hard edge to Ruth's voice.

"Yes, but even his luck ran out eventually. I knew publishing the salient parts of Clive's memoirs would probably lead to death threats being made against Mace. An old contact of mine got in touch and said he knew two individuals who were willing to resolve my problems and settle an old score at the same time. All I had to do in return was make some phone calls, organise passports and get a couple of people to look the other way."

"And Mace ended up dead in the boot of a car at Heathrow?" Ruth looked at him levelly as she spoke.

"Yes."

The silence stretched out and Harry could feel his nerves begin to fray.

"I'm not sorry he's dead Ruth; I don't feel guilty about what happened. Do you think I should?" He was aware he sounded defensive but he needed to know how she felt about his involvement in Mace's demise.

She studied him, reconciling all the different aspects of his character she had witnessed. The sweet and gentle man who had tenderly made love to her, exorcising her nightmares; the same man who had cried in her arms and begged forgiveness for the pain he had caused her. And now he had admitted his involvement in Oliver Mace's death. She wondered if she was supposed to feel shocked or upset at his revelations but she didn't. She felt calm and relieved that he had told her the truth.

"I don't think you should feel guilty. I think Mace got what he deserved - rough justice perhaps, but he brought it on himself."

The knot of fear in Harry's stomach started to unravel.

"So, will you stay?" Blue-grey eyes looked at him intently.

"Yes, yes of course I'll stay."

"Good."

* * *

**A review would be fab and will encourage me to get a move on and finish the final chapter... thanks!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I still don't own any Spooks characters...**

**Sorry for the delay in posting this - I've been a bit busy... And it's not quite the last chapter after all - there'll be one more.  
**

**Thanks, Em :D **

* * *

**Requiem for a love affair **

**Chapter 12**

Ruth felt euphoric. Harry had been with her less than a day but she already knew she couldn't go back to life without him. She slid her arms round his neck and pulled him into a warm embrace. When she finally released him, her hands lingered on his face, before dropping to his chest.

"There is something I still don't understand. Why did you fake your own death? Surely, once Mace was out of the way, the pressure was off?" Her voice was calm but her fingers fiddled nervously with the collar of his shirt, betraying the remnants of her anxiety.

"Mace had a plan B, which was already underway when he died. He knew there was a good chance I would be cleared of any involvement with al Khamir's death so he concocted evidence which proved I murdered you and then covered it up."

"Did he really believe I was dead?"

"I don't think it mattered either way to him. If you were dead, the evidence he'd falsified was so good it would have been difficult for me to prove I _didn't_ kill you. If you were still alive, he knew there was a good chance you would come back to clear my name; save me again."

"I happen to think you're worth saving." The look on Ruth's face defied Harry to disagree. "Now tell me how you managed to avoid being arrested."

"Zaf had a contact in the Major Incident Team who tipped him off when they applied for a warrant to search my house. Malcolm disrupted their tame magistrate's life so there was a delay in getting it signed. He had also tracked down one of the jamming devices that had been used at al Khamir's shooting and he used it to screw up the comms for the surveillance team who were watching me. Whilst they were pre-occupied with sorting that out, I vanished into the night. I deviated from the plan I had agreed with Adam though. He thought I was going to Harwich to get a ferry to Holland."

"But you went north instead," Ruth said quietly.

"Yes. I couldn't involve him or Zaf anymore. And Malcolm was already in it up to his eyeballs, not that he seemed to mind. He said something about 'making it up to you', but he wouldn't explain what he meant."

Ruth sighed. "It's not important; and he doesn't have anything to make up to me."

Harry watched her, carefully. He knew there was no point pursuing the subject, so continued with his story. "I met up with an old friend of mine. We'd worked together in Northern Ireland. He's something of an expert at arranging car accidents, amongst other things. He helped me rig my 'death' and drove me to Newcastle where I got the ferry to Norway. I then went to Germany via a rather circuitous route. Another old contact had arranged some accommodation and a few other facilities for me."

"So what about Adam and the others? Did they know where you were?"

"At that point, as far as they were concerned, I _was_ dead. I know that was a cruel thing to do, but it was the safest option, for all of us. I had to contact Malcolm eventually, though; he'd set me up with a bank account to use had I followed the original plan. I had to let him know I was still alive because I needed access to the money."

"I tried to get in touch with Malcolm."

"I know. He left several messages for you and he's been waiting for you to reply. He wanted to tell you I was alive."

Ruth cursed under her breath. If she hadn't abandoned her plans she would have known the truth weeks ago and saved herself a lot of heartache. She could feel tears starting to form behind her eyes and she passed a hand over her face.

"Hey, come on. Don't get upset." Harry kissed the top of her head. "I need to let him know I've found you and that we're both safe. You can send him some suitably cryptic message at the same time."

She nodded at him. "I'd like that." Something that had been nagging at the back of her mind suddenly surfaced. "Your car, the one you have now. It has Swiss licence plates. You didn't go straight to Switzerland from Germany did you? You haven't been there all this time?" There was the unspoken thought that he might have been only a few hundred miles away all the time she'd been grieving for him.

"No, I didn't get there until the beginning of last week. After Germany, I went to Spain, to see Catherine." Harry paused, trying to gauge Ruth's reaction to that piece of news. "I'd almost lost her before; I couldn't go on letting her think I was dead."

"No. I do understand."

"I've hated having to choose who to tell first. That's been one of the worst parts of all of this. Leaving the people I love thinking the worst and then reappearing in their lives saying 'hello, I'm not really dead'."

"I told you, I understand." She squeezed his arm. "I imagine Catherine was angry with you."

"Oh yes. She swore at me, called me a few names and then clung to me. We did manage to sort everything out in the end."

"Good. So you've been in Spain most of the time?"

"No, I haven't. I only got back to Europe last week. Once I'd smoothed things over with Catherine, I decided it would be best if I had a change of scene; and a change of continent."

"Where on earth have you been?"

He smiled at her mischievously. "Have you got a laptop?"

"What? Yes I have but tell me where you've been." Ruth was beginning to get impatient.

Harry laughed. "All will become clear but I've got something to show you first, well several things."

-----

Ruth set her laptop up on the table in front of them and looked expectantly at Harry as he placed a memory stick and a small notebook down on the wooden surface.

"We'll start with this." He pushed the slightly battered, leather-bound pad at her.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "What's this? Your little black book?"

"In a way, yes. But it's not full of old girlfriends' phone numbers."

Ruth picked the book up and a gold pen slid out onto the table. She stopped it rolling and held it carefully in her fingers.

"I recognise this; you used to fiddle with it during meetings."

Harry gently took the pen from her hand. "My mother gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday."

He didn't have to explain any more to her. She knew his mother had died when he was twenty and she understood, perhaps better than most, what it was like to lose a parent at a young age. Wordlessly, she leant towards him and kissed the side of his face. It was a small gesture but filled with meaning.

"So," she turned her attention back to the notebook and started to flick through it, "why are you telling me about this?"

"That book has thirty years worth of contacts; people I've done favours for, people who've helped me. You need to know about it because one day it might just save your life."

"I don't understand."

"If anything happens to me, use these contacts. They will help you disappear again and keep you safe."

She started to protest but he silenced her. "No, Ruth. Promise me, if the need arises, you'll use this."

Her agreement was given reluctantly, but she listened attentively as he explained how to decode the information within the notebook. Once he was satisfied that she could find her way round it, he handed her the memory stick.

Ruth plugged it into her laptop and then rolled her eyes at Harry as she was prompted for a password before she could access the information it contained.

"Three incorrect password attempts will lead to all the data being erased."

"That's helpful. Do I get a clue?"

Harry looked thoughtful as he considered his response. "Hasty precious metal."

She smiled at him and started typing. An ominous beep alerted her that the password she had tried was incorrect. Her brow furrowed. "But it has to be 'Goldrush' – it's the only thing that makes sense."

"Think about the clue, Ruth."

Her fingers suddenly flew over the keyboard as she realised what Harry had said. She smiled at him as the contents of the memory stick were revealed to her.

There were three folders, the first of which held information relating to Cotterdam. There were copies of affidavits from Adam and Zaf giving the whole story of the removal of the terrorist suspects and the subsequent cover-up. Additionally, there was a detailed breakdown of how they had faked the photos and other documents used to 'prove' Ruth's involvement in the conspiracy and discredit Harry's statement. The digital video files showing both the original CCTV from the tube and the faked version Mace had shown on that fateful day in Thames House were also included.

"I can't use these." She had stopped reading halfway through Harry's sworn statement, which described how he had ordered Ruth not to report anything and sanctioned the operation to illicitly remove data from the prison.

"But you can have your old life back…"

"And end up destroying Adam and Zaf in the process? Because that's what this would do. They would go to prison for conspiring to pervert the course of justice and God knows what else. And all the good things you've done, the lives you've saved, would all be forgotten. Your name, your memory would be ruined…"

"Well, it's too late, they already are ruined. And I wouldn't worry about Adam and Zaf; they wouldn't have done any of this if they had been concerned about themselves."

"No, Harry! I thought you understood? The only thing I want from my old life, the only thing I _need_, is you. If I go back to being Ruth Evershed, then I can't have you. Harry Pearce is dead, so unless you have some way of making a Lazarus-type comeback, which doesn't end with you going to prison, all of this is irrelevant."

Ruth was shaking with emotion as she finished her speech. For Harry, it was absolute confirmation of her feelings for him. He didn't feel worthy of such commitment but pushed aside his guilt over the sacrifices she had made, unwilling to risk damaging their relationship by arguing with her. She believed he was worth it; _he_ hoped she would never regret it.

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**A review would be lovely, thank you. **


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Even after all this time, they're still not mine...**

**Author's Note: This is the final chapter. Really, it is.**

**Acknowledgements: My thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read and review this fic - you make it all worthwhile. Thanks also to the POGs and NOGs for their enthusiasm, encouragement, help and support. Oh, and for pestering – in a good way, of course.**

**Thanks, Em and Kate ;)**

* * *

**Chapter 13**

There was a long silence that Harry finally broke.

"OK." He spoke quietly. "Just in case you ever need the original documents, they are in a bank in Lugano. That's why I was in Switzerland. Sorting out somewhere safe for them and," he moved his hand to the laptop screen and tapped his finger against it, "the manuscript for this."

Ruth opened the folder he had indicated. It contained a scanned copy of Clive McTaggart's memoirs.

"There's still plenty of stuff that can be used," Harry hesitated, "if required."

"Sounds intriguing, I shall have to read them." She sounded more like her old self and the tension between them eased.

"You might be shocked by some of it."

"Oh, I don't know. You wouldn't believe some of the stories Zaf told me." Her eyes shone with good humour and Harry finally relaxed.

"I don't think I want to know."

"So, what's this last folder then?"

He moved closer to her. "They're my holiday photos. Would you like to see them?"

"Would I like to see your holiday photos?" Her face was incredulous. "I thought the line was 'would you like to see my etchings'?"

Harry chuckled. "I think you've already given those a thorough examination," he whispered in her ear, before continuing in a more conversational tone, "anyway, these _are_ holiday photos, more or less."

Ruth shook her head at him and turned her attention back to the laptop. She stared at the screen in disbelief as a picture of a blonde girl and a dark-haired man appeared. They were sitting on a bench with a little girl between them.

"It's Zoë…and Will! I can't believe it; you've been to Chile."

"I thought I should go and see them. Make sure they're alright."

"Who is the little girl?"

"Their daughter, Emma."

"_Daughter_?"

"Yes. She's two, nearly three, and she's gorgeous."

"And has you completely wrapped round her little finger by the look of it." Ruth was gazing at a picture of Harry holding Emma and a feeling of longing gripped her heart; a feeling she usually managed to suppress.

"You've missed out on so much." It was as if he'd read her mind.

"Maybe," she shrugged. "Anyway, I think it's a bit late for all that."

"Well, you never know."

She looked at him, questioningly.

"It's up to you. If you want to…"

Ruth gave him a dazzling smile before returning her attention to the rest of the pictures. She stopped as a thought occurred to her. "The scar on your jaw – that was from Will wasn't it?"

Harry rubbed his hand over the mark and smiled ruefully. "He punched me. Well, obviously it was a bit of a shock for them, me turning up unexpectedly. I told you I deserved it."

"What about Zoë? What was her reaction?"

"The same as yours, well, not quite the same. She skipped the pinning me to the kitchen floor bit."

"Glad to hear it. I think Will might have done more than punch you."

They spent the next hour discussing Harry's trip to South America and Ruth made him tell her everything he could remember. Eventually he held his hands up:

"That's it, Ruth. I promise you. Come on, it's your turn. Tell me what you've been doing with your time."

She took a few moments to collect her thoughts. "Well, I went to The Netherlands first." Harry noted her careful choice of words as she declined to say 'after I left London' or 'left you'.

"I spent a month there and then I moved on to France for a while. I managed to find a bit of research work to do, it kept me out of mischief." She gave him a half-smile. "Don't worry; it wasn't anything to do with the Security Services."

"That's reassuring. I hate to think the DGSE might have been making use of your talents."

"Or the Americans."

"Even worse. So, did you come here when you left France?"

"No. I went to Spain, to Barcelona. I was there for about six months. I-I enjoyed it, I suppose…in a way."

Her voice had dropped to a whisper and Harry had to lean closer to hear her. It was almost as if she was embarrassed or ashamed of having taken pleasure in something she had done over the last two years.

"It's OK, you know, to have…well, to not have been miserable all the time." He couldn't decide if he'd said it to assuage her guilt or his own. The thought of Ruth alone and lonely, drifting through life, had plagued him frequently. If she had found some contentment, that was, at least, a small comfort to him.

Her eyes drifted over his face, taking in every detail. "I never forgot about you and I never stopped thinking about you." She kissed him. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Me too," he squeezed her hand. "Come on, you haven't finished telling me what you've been doing. How long have you been in Italy?"

Her brow furrowed. "Um, just over a year. I spent a bit of time in Switzerland before I came here."

"You like it here, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. And Claudia's been a good friend to me." A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. "She even tried to fix me up with her cousin."

"Her cousin?"

"Yes, Patrizio." Ruth pronounced the name in a perfect Italian accent.

"What's he like?"

"Oh, you know, tall, dark and handsome."

"I see. Young as well, I suppose." Harry couldn't hide the jealousy in his voice.

"He's thirty-five," she paused. "And madly in love with his personal assistant, so you have nothing to worry about."

He gave a wry laugh. "Sorry. But why has Claudia been trying to match make, then, if he's involved with someone else?"

"Ah, she doesn't know about that; Patrizio is keeping it quiet. He only told me because he didn't want me to have any, well, false hopes, I suppose. And I didn't have _any_ hopes where he was concerned, before you ask."

"It's OK; I'm convinced."

Ruth stretched and rolled her shoulders to relieve the stiffness that had set in. "Come on, you haven't seen the rest of the garden." As she stood up, she grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him out of his seat.

He followed her willingly and listened patiently as she pointed out the different plants and explained what did and didn't fair well in the northern Italian climate.

"I presume you haven't spent all your time gardening."

They had stopped at the top terrace and were sitting on a small wooden bench, which couldn't be seen from the house.

"No, I've been doing some research work and a bit of writing. I've even been helping out at the local school."

"Doing what? Teaching?"

"No. Five year olds tend not to have a lot of interest in the Classics."

"Five year olds?" Harry made no effort to hide his surprise.

"Yes. Well, I did work for you, it's not that dissimilar. Moody, bad-tempered, prone to throwing things if they don't get their own way…" She burst out laughing at the indignant look on his face.

Harry started to laugh as well. "Bloody cheek! I'll make you pay for that remark."

"Is that a promise?"

"Most definitely."

He caught her lips in a passionate kiss and lost himself in the now familiar taste.

"Talking of paying for things," he murmured when he eventually released her mouth. "Have you been alright for money?"

Ruth looked taken aback at the sudden concern over her financial situation. "Yes, fine. Malcolm had sorted out a decent-sized, untraceable lump sum for me and I've supplemented that as and when I can."

"Good." He slid his arm round her as she rested her head against his shoulder. "It's only recently that I've come to fully appreciate Malcolm's talent for larceny."

"I think it's called 'being resourceful', Harry."

"He certainly got very resourceful on our behalf."

"We should find a way to say thank you."

"Yes, we should."

They lapsed into a contented silence, watching the ferries and the pleasure boats on the lake in the distance.

"You picked a good spot. Close to the borders of several countries; good transport links and a constant stream of tourists you can blend in with."

"And there I was thinking you were going to say something about the wonderful view." She nudged him good-naturedly. "I thought _I_ was the one without any romantic spirit."

"Sorry; you can take the man out of the spying game…"

She laughed and pressed herself more firmly against his side.

"Do you think we'll be safe, if we stay here?"

Harry considered her question. "I'm not sure _anywhere_ would be 100 percent safe. But, if we stick to our legends, check in with Malcolm from time to time and look after each other, I think we'll be relatively safe here."

It was as good an answer as she could hope for.

"Shall we go for a boat ride on the lake tomorrow?" Dusk had fallen and they were walking back down the garden, towards the house.

"I like the sound of that idea."

Ruth smiled at him. "It will be nice to do something normal and touristy with you."

"So what do you want to do for the rest of the evening?"

Her arms slipped round his waist and she pulled him close. "I thought we could work on that suggestion of yours." At his puzzled expression she continued, "You did say it might not be too late, after all."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**One week later**

"Good joke, Malcolm? Perhaps you'd like to share it?"

The technician jumped as his colleague suddenly loomed over his shoulder. "No joke, Zaf, just a ghost in the machine." He logged off from his computer and stood up. "Come on, otherwise we'll be late."

Zaf sighed. "Do you have _any_ idea why Adam wants to drag us all the way over to West London for a drink? What's wrong with The George?"

"Change of scene, that's what he said."

Forty-five minutes later they were settled in The Swan, enjoying the view of the river and the warm summer's evening. Adam appeared with a tray of drinks. "All set, Malcolm?" he said as he set them down on the table.

"Yes."

"What exactly is this all about, Adam?" The congenial atmosphere and decent beer hadn't totally eradicated Zaf's irritated mood.

"You'll see, mate."

"Right." Malcolm produced a PDA. "I have something to show you but I think Adam wants to say a few words first."

"I certainly do." The blonde officer scanned the surrounding tables to ensure no one was taking an interest in their small group.

"As you know, there has never been an official memorial service for either Ruth or Harry and I am aware this caused some bad feeling."

"Why won't you pursue it with the DG? I know in Ruth's case, there's not a hope, not that she really needs a memorial service," Zaf said quietly, although the anger he felt was still discernable in his voice. "But for Harry?"

"I'm not pursuing it because," Adam took a breath and looked at Malcolm, "he doesn't need a memorial service. _Neither_ of them do."

There was long silence as his colleagues digested Adam's words.

"You mean Harry's still alive?" Jo whispered.

"Show them the picture, Malcolm."

The PDA was handed across the table and a dark head and a blonde head almost touched as they leant over the small screen and studied the photo of a happy couple, arms wrapped round each other, enjoying a boat trip.

When Zaf looked up, his was grinning broadly. "See? I told you those two would always end up together."

* * *

**A review, for old times sake, would be lovely. Thanks**. 


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